continued for two hours; the Corso was light as day; the features of
the spectators on the third and fourth stories were visible. Every five
minutes Albert took out his watch; at length it pointed to seven. The
two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albert sprang out, bearing
his moccoletto in his hand. Two or three masks strove to knock his
moccoletto out of his hand; but Albert, a first-rate pugilist, sent them
rolling in the street, one after the other, and continued his course
towards the church of San Giacomo. The steps were crowded with masks,
who strove to snatch each other's torches. Franz followed Albert with
his eyes, and saw him mount the first step. Instantly a mask, wearing
the well-known costume of a peasant woman, snatched his moccoletto from
him without his offering any resistance. Franz was too far off to hear
what they said; but, without doubt, nothing hostile passed, for he saw
Albert disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant girl. He watched them pass
through the crowd for some time, but at length he lost sight of them in
the Via Macello. Suddenly the bell that gives the signal for the end of
the carnival sounded, and at the same instant all the moccoletti were
extinguished as if by enchantment. It seemed as though one immense blast
of the wind had extinguished every one. Franz found himself in utter
darkness. No sound was audible save that of the carriages that were
carrying the maskers home; nothing was visible save a few lights that
burnt behind the windows. The Carnival was over.
Chapter 37. The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian.
In his whole life, perhaps, Franz had never before experienced so sudden
an impression, so rapid a transition from gayety to sadness, as in this
moment. It seemed as though Rome, under the magic breath of some demon
of the night, had suddenly changed into a vast tomb. By a chance, which
added yet more to the intensity of the darkness, the moon, which was on
the wane, did not rise until eleven o'clock, and the streets which the
young man traversed were plunged in the deepest obscurity. The distance
was short, and at the end of ten minutes his carriage, or rather the
count's, stopped before the Hotel de Londres. Dinner was waiting, but
as Albert had told him that he should not return so soon, Franz sat down
without him. Signor Pastrini, who had been accustomed to see them dine
together, inquired into the cause of his absence, but Franz merely
replied that Albert had received on the previous evening an invitation
which he had accepted. The sudden extinction of the moccoletti, the
darkness which had replaced the light, and the silence which had
succeeded the turmoil, had left in Franz's mind a certain depression
which was not free from uneasiness. He therefore dined very silently, in
spite of the officious attention of his host, who presented himself two
or three times to inquire if he wanted anything.
Franz resolved to wait for Albert as late as possible. He ordered the
carriage, therefore, for eleven o'clock, desiring Signor Pastrini to
inform him the moment that Albert returned to the hotel. At eleven
o'clock Albert had not come back. Franz dressed himself, and went out,
telling his host that he was going to pass the night at the Duke of
Bracciano's. The house of the Duke of Bracciano is one of the most
delightful in Rome, the duchess, one of the last heiresses of the
Colonnas, does its honors with the most consummate grace, and thus their
fetes have a European celebrity. Franz and Albert had brought to Rome
letters of introduction to them, and their first question on his arrival
was to inquire the whereabouts of his travelling companion. Franz
replied that he had left him at the moment they were about to extinguish
the moccoli, and that he had lost sight of him in the Via Macello. "Then
he has not returned?" said the duke.
"I waited for him until this hour," replied Franz.
"And do you know whither he went?"
"No, not precisely; however, I think it was something very like a
rendezvous."
"Diavolo!" said the duke, "this is a bad day, or rather a bad night,
to be out late; is it not, countess!" These words were addressed to
the Countess G----, who had just arrived, and was leaning on the arm of
Signor Torlonia, the duke's brother.
"I think, on the contrary, that it is a charming night," replied the
countess, "and those who are here will complain of but one thing--its
too rapid flight."
"I am not speaking," said the duke with a smile, "of the persons who are
here; the men run no other danger than that of falling in love with
you, and the women of falling ill of jealousy at seeing you so lovely; I
meant persons who were out in the streets of Rome."
"Ah," asked the countess, "who is out in the streets of Rome at this
hour, unless it be to go to a ball?"
"Our friend, Albert de Morcerf, countess, whom I left in pursuit of his
unknown about seven o'clock this evening," said Franz, "and whom I have
not seen since."
"And don't you know where he is?"
"Not at all."
"Is he armed?"
"He is in masquerade."
"You should not have allowed him to go," said the duke to Franz; "you,
who know Rome better than he does."
"You might as well have tried to stop number three of the barberi, who
gained the prize in the race to-day," replied Franz; "and then moreover,
what could happen to him?"
"Who can tell? The night is gloomy, and the Tiber is very near the Via
Macello." Franz felt a shudder run through his veins at observing that
the feeling of the duke and the countess was so much in unison with his
own personal disquietude. "I informed them at the hotel that I had the
honor of passing the night here, duke," said Franz, "and desired them to
come and inform me of his return."
"Ah," replied the duke, "here I think, is one of my servants who is
seeking you."
The duke was not mistaken; when he saw Franz, the servant came up to
him. "Your excellency," he said, "the master of the Hotel de Londres has
sent to let you know that a man is waiting for you with a letter from
the Viscount of Morcerf."
"A letter from the viscount!" exclaimed Franz.
"Yes."
"And who is the man?"
"I do not know."
"Why did he not bring it to me here?"
"The messenger did not say."
"And where is the messenger?"
"He went away directly he saw me enter the ball-room to find you."
"Oh," said the countess to Franz, "go with all speed--poor young man!
Perhaps some accident has happened to him."
"I will hasten," replied Franz.
"Shall we see you again to give us any information?" inquired the
countess.
"Yes, if it is not any serious affair, otherwise I cannot answer as to
what I may do myself."
"Be prudent, in any event," said the countess.
"Oh, pray be assured of that." Franz took his hat and went away in
haste. He had sent away his carriage with orders for it to fetch him at
two o'clock; fortunately the Palazzo Bracciano, which is on one side
in the Corso, and on the other in the Square of the Holy Apostles, is
hardly ten minutes' walk from the Hotel de Londres. As he came near the
hotel, Franz saw a man in the middle of the street. He had no doubt
that it was the messenger from Albert. The man was wrapped up in a large
cloak. He went up to him, but, to his extreme astonishment, the stranger
first addressed him. "What wants your excellency of me?" inquired the
man, retreating a step or two, as if to keep on his guard.
"Are not you the person who brought me a letter," inquired Franz, "from
the Viscount of Morcerf?"
"Your excellency lodges at Pastrini's hotel?"
"I do."
"Your excellency is the travelling companion of the viscount?"
"I am."
"Your excellency's name"--
"Is the Baron Franz d'Epinay."
"Then it is to your excellency that this letter is addressed."
"Is there any answer?" inquired Franz, taking the letter from him.
"Yes--your friend at least hopes so."
"Come up-stairs with me, and I will give it to you."
"I prefer waiting here," said the messenger, with a smile.
"And why?"
"Your excellency will know when you have read the letter."
"Shall I find you here, then?"
"Certainly."
Franz entered the hotel. On the staircase he met Signor Pastrini.
"Well?" said the landlord.
"Well--what?" responded Franz.
"You have seen the man who desired to speak with you from your friend?"
he asked of Franz.
"Yes, I have seen him," he replied, "and he has handed this letter to
me. Light the candles in my apartment, if you please." The inn-keeper
gave orders to a servant to go before Franz with a light. The young man
had found Signor Pastrini looking very much alarmed, and this had
only made him the more anxious to read Albert's letter; and so he went
instantly towards the waxlight, and unfolded it. It was written and
signed by Albert. Franz read it twice before he could comprehend what it
contained. It was thus worded:--
My Dear Fellow,--The moment you have received this, have the kindness
to take the letter of credit from my pocket-book, which you will find
in the square drawer of the secretary; add your own to it, if it be
not sufficient. Run to Torlonia, draw from him instantly four thousand
piastres, and give them to the bearer. It is urgent that I should have
this money without delay. I do not say more, relying on you as you may
rely on me. Your friend,
Albert de Morcerf.
P.S.--I now believe in Italian banditti.
Below these lines were written, in a strange hand, the following in
Italian:--
Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie
mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di vivere.
Luigi Vampa.
"If by six in the morning the four thousand piastres are not in my
hands, by seven o'clock the Count Albert will have ceased to live."
This second signature explained everything to Franz, who now understood
the objection of the messenger to coming up into the apartment; the
street was safer for him. Albert, then, had fallen into the hands of
the famous bandit chief, in whose existence he had for so long a time
refused to believe. There was no time to lose. He hastened to open the
secretary, and found the pocket-book in the drawer, and in it the letter
of credit. There were in all six thousand piastres, but of these six
thousand Albert had already expended three thousand. As to Franz, he had
no letter of credit, as he lived at Florence, and had only come to Rome
to pass seven or eight days; he had brought but a hundred louis, and
of these he had not more than fifty left. Thus seven or eight hundred
piastres were wanting to them both to make up the sum that Albert
required. True, he might in such a case rely on the kindness of Signor
Torlonia. He was, therefore, about to return to the Palazzo Bracciano
without loss of time, when suddenly a luminous idea crossed his mind. He
remembered the Count of Monte Cristo. Franz was about to ring for Signor
Pastrini, when that worthy presented himself. "My dear sir," he said,
hastily, "do you know if the count is within?"
"Yes, your excellency; he has this moment returned."
"Is he in bed?"
"I should say no."
"Then ring at his door, if you please, and request him to be so kind
as to give me an audience." Signor Pastrini did as he was desired,
and returning five minutes after, he said,--"The count awaits your
excellency." Franz went along the corridor, and a servant introduced him
to the count. He was in a small room which Franz had not yet seen, and
which was surrounded with divans. The count came towards him. "Well,
what good wind blows you hither at this hour?" said he; "have you come
to sup with me? It would be very kind of you."
"No; I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter."
"A serious matter," said the count, looking at Franz with the
earnestness usual to him; "and what may it be?"
"Are we alone?"
"Yes," replied the count, going to the door, and returning. Franz gave
him Albert's letter. "Read that," he said. The count read it.
"Well, well!" said he.
"Did you see the postscript?"
"I did, indeed.
"'Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie
mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di vivere.
"'Luigi Vampa.'"
"What think you of that?" inquired Franz.
"Have you the money he demands?"
"Yes, all but eight hundred piastres." The count went to his secretary,
opened it, and pulling out a drawer filled with gold, said to Franz,--"I
hope you will not offend me by applying to any one but myself."
"You see, on the contrary, I come to you first and instantly," replied
Franz.
"And I thank you; have what you will;" and he made a sign to Franz to
take what he pleased.
"Is it absolutely necessary, then, to send the money to Luigi Vampa?"
asked the young man, looking fixedly in his turn at the count.
"Judge for yourself," replied he. "The postscript is explicit."
"I think that if you would take the trouble of reflecting, you could
find a way of simplifying the negotiation," said Franz.
"How so?" returned the count, with surprise.
"If we were to go together to Luigi Vampa, I am sure he would not refuse
you Albert's freedom."
