Quite a long time had elapsed since the sudden departure of the Viscount Massetti from Paris, but Zuleika was still in complete ignorance as to his whereabouts and actions. He was in Rome, of that she had not the slightest doubt. She was equally convinced that his errand there was to establish his innocence of the terrible crime imputed to him by Luigi Vampa, to obtain proofs that would clear him in the eves of her father and herself, if not of all the world. Why, therefore, did he not write, why did he not give her some sign that she would understand? His silence discouraged the young girl, filled her with uneasiness. It seemed to indicate that he had not succeeded, had not been able to wipe the stain from his record. If so she would never see him again, for Giovanni was too proud to reappear in her presence with a dishonored name, a sullied reputation. This thought was torture, and Monte-Cristo's daughter felt that should her lover desert her she could not live.
As the days rolled by without a word of intelligence from the Viscount, Zuleika's fears assumed greater consistency and weight. She grew sad, inexpressibly sad; her look lost its brightness, her voiceits cheery tone and her step its elasticity. The bloom faded from her youthful cheeks, giving place to an ashen pallor. She was no longer interested in her accustomed occupations and amusements, and would sit for hours together with her hands crossed in her lap, dominated by sorrowful and dismal forebodings.
Mercédès noticed her condition, and, ascribing it to its proper cause, strove in a motherly way to rouse and console her, but without effect. She spoke to the Count about it, begging him to use his influence to cheer his child, but Monte-Cristo only shook his head, saying that they must trust to the soothing power of time which could not fail ultimately to do its work. Espérance pitied his sister sincerely, but refrained from interfering, well knowing that nothing he could say would be productive of good. Albert de Morcerf, his wife and Mlle. d' Armilly, who had learned of Zuleika's love affair and the dark shadow that had fallen upon it, felt a delicacy about alluding to the matter and, therefore, held aloof; besides, they were too much depressed by the circumstances under which Danglars had reappeared to be able to exert a cheering influence.
When Mercédès returned from Marseilles she was accompanied by Maximilian and Valentine Morrel, who immediately went to the mansion on the Rue du Helder and paid their respects to the Count of Monte-Cristo, their benefactor. It was their intention to make only a brief call, taking up their residence during their sojourn in Paris at that famousstopping-place for strangers, the Grand Hôtel du Louvre on the Rue de Rivoli adjoining the Palais Royal, but Monte-Cristo would not hear of such a thing, insisting that the young soldier and his wife should be his guests and partake of his hospitality. They were not reluctant to consent to this agreeable arrangement, as it would enable them to enjoy uninterruptedly the society of their dearest friends.
Mme. Morrel at once took a deep interest in Zuleika. She saw that some sorrow was heavily weighing on the young girl, and, rightly divining that the tender passion had much to do with it, immediately endeavored to inspire her with a degree of confidence sufficient to bring about revelations. In this Mme. Morrel was not actuated by curiosity. Her motive was altogether laudable; she desired to serve the Count of Monte-Cristo, to do something to show her gratitude for the overwhelming benefits he had in the past showered upon her husband and herself, and could conceive no better or more effectual way than by striving to relieve Zuleika. She, therefore, promptly set about her praiseworthy but difficult task, resolved to bring back the roses to the young girl's cheeks and restore hope to her sad and dejected heart.
She began by using every womanly art to induce Zuleika to love her and look upon her as a friend of friends. In this initial step she succeeded even beyond her most ardent anticipations. From the first Monte-Cristo's daughter was attracted towards her, and it required very little effort on Mme. Morrel's part to win her completely. Valentine's dispositionwas so sweet and her sympathy so sincere that Zuleika could not help loving her; besides, the romantic story of her love for Maximilian and the terrible trials she had undergone before being united to him through Monte-Cristo's potent influence, with which she was thoroughly acquainted, predisposed Giovanni's betrothed to regard her as a woman to whom she could open her heart and from whom she might derive supreme solace, if not consolation. Valentine's quick and penetrating eyes read the young girl like the pages of an open book, and she was not slow in utilizing the advantages she acquired.
Things had been going on in this way for several days, when one evening Mme. Morrel proposed a promenade in the garden to Zuleika with a view of bringing matters to a crisis. She gladly acquiesced in the proposition and soon they were strolling in the moonlight amid the fragrant flowers and centenarian trees. It was a sultry night, but there was a pleasant breeze that agreeably fanned the cheeks of Valentine and her youthful companion. Mme. Morrel had matured her plan, but Zuleika herself unexpectedly came to her aid, assisting her to put it into immediate and practical execution.
After walking for a short space, they seated themselves in a magnificent pavilion or summer-house situated at the extremity of the garden. It was built of white stone, the walls being perforated by several tall archways that supplied the place of both windows and doors. Ivy and other clustering vines clambered about the exterior, creeping through the archways andfurnishing the ceiling with a verdant canopy exceedingly inviting and refreshing to the eye weary of contemplating the dust and dryness of the streets parched by the summer sun. Without were several great silver maple trees and numerous ornamental shrubs. Mme. Morrel drew close to Zuleika on the rustic bench they occupied and, taking the young girl's hand, said to her, in a soft voice:
"This is a delicious spot, my child."
"Yes," replied Monte-Cristo's daughter, "it is, indeed, delicious. When here, I always feel as if I could pour out my whole heart into the bosom of some faithful friend."
"Do so in this instance, my dear," said Mme. Morrel, persuasively. "I trust I am a faithful friend, as well as a discreet one."
"I believe you," rejoined Zuleika. "Ever since you have been in our house I have felt so and longed to make you my confidante, but I have hesitated to take such a step, fearing to burden you with troubles that might distress you."
"Have no further fears on that score then, but speak freely and with the certainty that in your sorrows, whatever they may be, you will find me a sincere sympathizer and comforter."
Zuleika took Valentine's hand, and, gazing into her face with tearful eyes, said:
"You have noticed that I had sorrows, Mme. Morrel?"
"Yes; how could I help it? But I have done more; I have divined their cause!"
Zuleika gave a slight start.
"Divined their cause, Mme. Morrel?"
"Yes," answered Valentine. "You are in love!"
The young girl blushed, but appeared relieved. Mme. Morrel had divined her love, had divined that her sorrows arose from it, but she had not divined the nature of the shadow that clouded her budding life and filled her with grief and apprehension.
"Zuleika," continued Valentine, with the utmost tenderness and consideration, "I, too, have loved, deeply and desperately; I, too, have felt all the bitter pangs that arise from separation; but I have realized my dream at last, and the shadows that surrounded me have been swept away by the blessed sunshine of union and happiness. Confide in me, my child. If I cannot drive your shadows from you, I can at least give you true sympathy and the consolation that it affords."
"They will be welcome to me, unspeakably welcome, madame," replied Zuleika, tremulously.
"Then tell me all."
"I cannot, madame; I have no right to; but I can tell you enough to wring your heart, to show you how unfortunate I am."
"My poor girl, I understand and appreciate your scruples. You do not wish to compromise your lover, and you are right. Your decision does you honor. Is the man you love in Paris?"
"Alas! no. I believe he is in Rome."
"Then you do not know his whereabouts with certainty?"
"No, madame."
"Does your father disapprove of his suit?"
"He did not at the outset, but very painful circumstances have since arisen, causing him to alter his determination, or, at least, hold his consent in abeyance. Still, I think, he believes Giovanni can and will refute the dreadful charge that has been made against him."
"Giovanni? Your lover is then an Italian?"
"Yes, the Viscount Giovanni Massetti."
"You became acquainted with him here in Paris?"
"No, madame; in Rome."
"And you think he has gone thither to clear himself of the charge you mention?"
"Yes, madame. He came to Paris to solicit my hand, but suddenly disappeared after the terrible charge was made. I have not heard from him since and his silence weighs upon me like lead."
"I do not wonder at it; but, perhaps, after all, he is only waiting for a complete vindication and does not wish to write until he has everything satisfactorily arranged. I do not ask you the nature of the charge, Zuleika, and would not allow you to state it to me even if you were so disposed. But answer me one question. You have entire faith in Giovanni's innocence, have you not?"
"I have, madame."
"You are sure he loves you, that he has not trifled with your affections?"
"I am sure, madame."
"He is young, is he not?"
"Yes, madame, he is young."
"Doubtlessly his fault, whatever it may have been, was simply an indiscretion due to his years that has been magnified and made to assume unwarranted proportions by the tongues of envy and scandal. If so, he will repair it and return to you. If he is altogether innocent, as you feel convinced, he will move heaven and earth to justify himself in your father's eyes and yours. Love is potent, Zuleika, and will accomplish miracles. Trust Giovanni and trust Heaven! All will yet be made right between your lover and yourself!"
"Would that I could feel so, madame, but I cannot!"
"And why, pray?"
"Because Giovanni evidently has powerful enemies in Rome and its vicinity who, no doubt, are at this moment operating against him and using all their efforts to prevent him from succeeding in his mission."
"What makes you think he has such remorseless enemies?"
"A letter my father received from Rome in response to inquiries he made and the illusion—it must be an illusion—under which my brother Espérance labors in regard to Giovanni."
"Your brother Espérance! Then he believes in young Massetti's guilt?"
"Alas! yes; he firmly believes in it and stigmatizes the Viscount as the worst of scoundrels."
"Has he given you the reasons for his belief, has he stated them to your father?"
"He has dealt only in vague, mysterious allusions; an oath of silence, it appears, prevents him from speaking out."
"An oath of silence?"
"Yes, and Giovanni is also likewise bound."
"Indeed! What is your lover's reputation in Rome?"
"Of the very best; he is there regarded as the soul of honor."
"Save by his enemies. So far so good. Do you know the standing of his family?"
"It is one of the oldest, most respected, most aristocratic and wealthiest in the Eternal City."
"Another strong point in the young man's favor. Zuleika, I am satisfied that the mystery surrounding your lover can be cleared away; but I am also satisfied that he needs assistance, the assistance of persons deeply interested in you, who have your welfare at heart and cherish your happiness as their own."
"But such persons cannot be found, madame. Of course my father and brother are deeply interested in me, have my welfare at heart and desire to see me happy. They, however, are not disposed to aid Giovanni, my brother for reasons of his own and my father because he thinks that the Viscount should work his own rehabilitation. No, madame, such persons as you mention cannot be found."
"They can be found, Zuleika, and you will not have far to look for them either!"
Mme. Morrel gazed at Monte-Cristo's daughter with enthusiasm in her fine eyes. The girl was at a loss to understand her.
"Surely you do not mean Albert de Morcerf and Eugénie?" she said.
"No," replied Valentine. "They love you, undoubtedly, but the needful assistance is not to be obtained from them."
"Certainly you cannot allude to Mlle. d' Armilly or Ali, my father's devoted Nubian servant?"
"No, I do not allude to them!"
"Whom then do you mean?"
"Cannot you guess, Zuleika?"
A sudden thought came to Zuleika, filling her with intense amazement.
"You cannot mean yourself and your husband, Mme. Morrel?" she gasped.
"And why not, my child?" answered Valentine, sweetly. "All the assistance we can render you will be but a weak, inadequate return for what your father has done for us. He saved me from death, withdrew the suicidal pistol from Maximilian's hand, comforted us in our time of darkest despair, and finally brought us together after a separation that even M. Morrel deemed eternal, simultaneously placing in our hands wealth sufficient to make us altogether independent of the accidents and disasters of this world. Besides, before that he was the benefactor of M. Morrel's father, saving him also from suicide, suicide that he had determined upon as the only means of avoiding terrible disgrace. You see, Zuleika, that we have abundant motives for aiding you."
"Oh! madame—Valentine—you utterly overwhelm me! How can I show my gratitude to you?"
"By accepting my offer!"
These words were accompanied by a look of ineffable tenderness and sincerity. They instantly brought hope to Zuleika's heart. She burst into a flood of tears, but they were tears of joy. Still, she hesitated. What would her father say if she accepted Mme. Morrel's generous proposition?
"Do you accept, Zuleika?" pursued Mme. Morrel.
"I thank you from the depths of my soul, madame; but I cannot accept the sacrifice you and your kind, manly husband would make for me! My father would censure me, would never forgive me for adopting such a selfish course!"
"Trust your father to me, my child."
"Oh! madame! Accept your offer without consulting him?"
"There is no need to consult him, there is no need for him to know anything whatever about the matter, for the present at least. It will be time enough to tell him what we have done when success has crowned our efforts. Should we unhappily fail, a thought that I cannot for an instant entertain, there will be no occasion to tell him anything at all."
At that moment a man's voice was heard calling at a distance:
"Valentine, Valentine, where are you?"
"It is Maximilian," said Mme. Morrel to Zuleika. "He comes very opportunely!" Then raising her voice she answered him: "Here, Maximilian, here, in the summer pavilion at the extremity of the garden!"
The husband hastened to the spot, and Valentine, making him seat himself beside her and Monte-Cristo's daughter, told him all she had just learned. She also communicated to him the offer she had made to Zuleika, adding:
"You will consent to it, I know, Maximilian!"
"Gladly," answered the young soldier. "Had you not made the proposal, I should have made it myself!"
"Then we have but to induce Zuleika to authorize us to act. The poor child, however, hesitates, fearing the Count's displeasure."
"She need not authorize us," said Maximilian quickly. "We will assume the entire responsibility on the step! But it will be necessary for her to confide in us more fully, to give us the data upon which to build our plans. I will get letters of introduction to the Viscount Massetti and, once acquainted with him, the rest will be easy."
Later that night Zuleika told Mme. Morrel everything without reserve, even giving her a little note to Giovanni which stated that Valentine and Maximilian were her dearest friends and had come to Rome expressly to aid him in his troubles.
A week after the momentous interview in the pavilion M. and Mme. Morrel set out for Italy, informing their friends in the mansion on the Rue du Helder that they intended being absent some time, but refraining from giving even the slightest hint of the object of their journey.
One morning shortly after the departure of the Morrels for Rome, the Count of Monte-Cristo was driving along the Champs-Elysées in his elegant barouche drawn by a pair of spirited, blooded bays, when, near the Rond-point, his progress was suddenly checked by a great, tumultuous concourse of people. Leaning from his carriage, he asked a workman the cause of the unwonted commotion and was informed that two Italians had been arrested for theft and were being taken to the poste of the quarter by a couple of gardiens de la paix. He thought nothing of the circumstance and was calmly waiting for an opportunity to proceed when the crowd about the barouche opened and the officers appeared with their captives. The Count was not much interested, but, nevertheless, bestowed a passing glance upon the malefactors, who were loudly protesting their innocence in broken, almost unintelligible French, and offering a stout resistance. They were roughly attired in blue blouses, wearing felt hats that were pulled down and obscured their countenances. One of the men in custody caught hold of a spoke of a wheel of Monte-Cristo's vehicle, grasping it with such iron firmness that all the efforts of the policeman in charge of himfailed to shake off his clutch. The Count ordered Ali, who was acting as coachman, to hand him the reins, dismount and assist the gardien.
At the sound of his voice, the man who had grasped the spoke looked up with a start and, without relaxing his hold, cried out in Italian:
"Say a word for me, your Excellency! The Count of Monte-Cristo should have as much power over the myrmidons of the French law as over Luigi Vampa and his band!"
This exclamation amazed and startled the Count, so strange and unlooked for was it. He gazed penetratingly at the malefactor who had uttered it, but his scrutiny was unrewarded by recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked, as soon as his amazement permitted him to speak, also making use of the Italian language. "You are a perfect stranger to me, yet you know my name and seem acquainted with some of my actions in the past. Who are you?"
"I am Peppino," answered the man, without taking his eyes from the Count. "My companion who is being dragged away yonder is Beppo."
"Peppino?—Beppo?" said the Count, musingly. "Surely I have heard those names before, but they are common in Italy, especially in Rome, and I have been there frequently. Be more explicit, man."
"I will," replied the Italian. "I am the Peppino who served you so well when Luigi Vampa held the French banker, Danglars, in captivity at your behest. As for Beppo, you cannot have forgotten him; he also was a member of Vampa's band at that period."
"Yes," said Monte-Cristo, "I remember both of you now, but what can I do for you? Paris is vastly different from Rome, and my influence with the French police is not by any means equal to that I wielded over Vampa and his brigands at the time you speak of."
"The Count of Monte-Cristo's power is unbounded anywhere in the entire world," rejoined the man, his brightened visage showing clearly the extent of his faith. "A word from him will release both Beppo and myself. Speak that word, your Excellency, and set us free!"
Ali had refrained from interfering when he heard this singular conversation, which he fully understood. He was waiting for further orders from his master.
The policeman grew impatient and, giving the Italian a rough shake, said to him:
"Come now, let go that spoke and submit. Don't you see that you are disturbing the Count of Monte-Cristo? His Excellency will do nothing for such a scoundrel as you. Come, let go that spoke, I say!"
Peppino, however, would not obey and continued to supplicate the Count to interfere in behalf of Beppo and himself. At last, driven to desperation by Monte-Cristo's inaction, he cried out to him:
"If your Excellency will do nothing for us without recompense, I will give that recompense; I will tell you in exchange for your efforts in our behalf all I know concerning the black conspiracy against the Viscount Giovanni Massetti!"
The Count was visibly moved by this speech. Hestared at Peppino as if he thought that he had not heard aright.
"The Viscount Giovanni Massetti! A black conspiracy against him! What do you mean?" he inquired, quickly.
"Just what I say, your Excellency," answered the Italian. "I know that the Viscount visited the Palazzo Costi in Rome when you inhabited it with your family, and that he fell in love with your daughter. I also know the details of a plot by which a network of crushing circumstances has been woven about him with the view of burying him beneath a weight of shame, dishonor and even of crime! I can reveal those details and will do so if you aid my companion and myself in our present difficulty. Do I interest you, Signor Count?"
"Vastly," answered Monte-Cristo, his face assuming a serious look. "Go quietly with the gardien to the poste. I will follow immediately and see what can be done."
"Yes, your Excellency," said Peppino, submissively, and abandoning his grasp of the spoke he allowed the policeman to bear him away without further trouble. Meanwhile Beppo and the officer in whose custody he was had disappeared in the distance.
Those who had been near enough to the Count's barouche to witness this extraordinary scene were greatly astonished that such a famous character as the eloquent Deputy from Marseilles should stoop to converse with a malefactor in the public street, but their astonishment was immeasurably augmented when theysaw the influence the celebrated orator exercised over the depraved Italian. They had not been able to understand the conversation, but the effect of Monte-Cristo's last words seemed little less than miraculous to them and they rent the air with loud and enthusiastic cheers.
"Long live the noble Count of Monte-Cristo! Long live the Deputy from Marseilles, the people's friend!" was shouted on every side.
Further on the cry was taken up and repeated, ringing forth far along the broad and beautiful Champs-Elysées!
Monte-Cristo arose in his barouche and, removing his hat, stood bareheaded, bowing to the excited populace.
This was the signal for new and heartier cheers. But the criminals having been removed, the crowd soon began to disperse. At length the thoroughfare was cleared and the Count's vehicle could proceed. Ali had impassibly resumed the driver's seat and, at a nod from his adored master, started the spirited horses down the immense avenue. As the blooded bays went prancing along with proudly arched necks, the Count bent over and said to Ali:
"Drive at once to the poste of the quarter."
The Nubian skilfully wheeled the animals about and in a few minutes Monte-Cristo had reached his destination.
At the door of the poste a gardien received him and, at the mention of his name, obsequiously conducted him to the officer in charge. The latter, ashort, determined-looking man with a bristling gray moustache and gray hair that stood almost on end upon his little round head, recognized his illustrious visitor at a glance. He hastily arose from the desk at which he was seated, engaged in examining the reports of his subordinates, and politely offered him a chair. Then he asked, deferentially:
"To what am I indebted for so distinguished an honor as a call from the Count of Monte-Cristo?"
"Monsieur," replied the Count, taking the proffered seat, "two Italians were arrested a short time ago on the Champs-Elysées and brought hither."
"Yes," said the chief of the poste, "and great scoundrels they are, too! We have been shadowing them for some time, but could never detect them in any overt act until to-day. They belong to a very dangerous gang of prowlers, led by a shrewd German named Waldmann, whose headquarters are in a wretched caboulot of the Cité d' Antin."
"Of what are these Italians accused, that is what is the present specific charge against them?"
"They were caught picking pockets in the crowd thronging about a marionette show."
"Is the evidence against them conclusive?"
"It is."
"That is unfortunate," said the Count, "as one of them is in possession of information of the utmost importance to me. He has made partial revelations, but sets as the price of a full disclosure my interference in behalf of himself and his comrade in crime. What can be done?"
"I do not see," replied the chief, in perplexity. "It is impossible for me to let the men off."
"But is there not some way in which I could obtain a mitigation of their punishment?"
"Oh! as for that, yes," said the officer, brightening. "If you would speak to the Procureur de la République, I am sure he would grant you the minimum sentence in such cases. Perhaps," added he, as a sudden thought struck him, "he might even be induced not to press the prosecution, in which event the men would be discharged."
"Thank you, monsieur," said the Count, rising. "I will act upon your wise suggestion without delay. But can you grant me a small favor? Can you allow me a brief interview with the man calling himself Peppino?"
"Undoubtedly," answered the chief, in a cordial voice, "and I shall be very glad to do so if it will assist you any."
"It will enable me to assure the man that I am at work and have some hope of success."
"Then follow me."
The chief, who had remained standing out of compliment to the Count, took a large key from a rack behind his desk and opened a door leading into a long, dimly-lighted corridor. Monte-Cristo followed him through this gloomy passage until they came to a cell before which the chief stopped. The large key grated in the lock, the door of the cell swung open with an ominous sound and the Count found himself face to face with the former Roman bandit.
Peppino was sitting on the edge of an iron bedstead, the very picture of despair. He thought that Monte-Cristo had deserted him, that he would not interfere even with the prospect of obtaining the details of the plot against young Massetti. As the Count entered the cell his countenance brightened instantly and hope was renewed in his bosom. The chief discreetly withdrew, saying as he did so:
"I will wait without, in the corridor."
With these words he closed the door of the cell and Monte-Cristo found himself alone with Peppino.
All the light that made its way into the gloomy cell came through a small grated window high up in the wall, placed at such a distance from the floor that no prisoner could reach it even by climbing upon his bedstead. The walls and ceiling were of stone.
"Well," asked Peppino, "how has your Excellency succeeded?"
"I have made but little progress as yet, though I hope to be able to do something for you and Beppo in a very short time," answered the Count, in a reassuring voice.
"I am satisfied," said Peppino, cheerily. "If your Excellency only determines upon it, Beppo and myself will shortly be free!"
"I cannot go that far, my good fellow, but I can and do promise you all my aid and influence can effect."
"They will effect everything necessary, Signor Count," replied the Italian, confidently.
"Do not hope for too much, Peppino. I have told you that Paris is different from Rome."
"I have occasion now to know that," rejoined the outlaw, bitterly. "But the power of the Count of Monte-Cristo is the same here as in the campagna!"
"Keep up a stout heart, at all events, my good fellow. We shall soon know what can be done."
"I will keep up a stout heart, Signor Count, for I have perfect faith in you!"
"So be it. Now, my man, what do you know about the plot against the Viscount Massetti?"
"Pardon me, Signor Count," said the Italian, shrewdly, "but I will tell you that when Beppo and myself are at liberty!"
Monte-Cristo smiled at the man's cunning.
"At least," he said, "tell me if you have seen the Viscount recently."
"I will do that, your Excellency. I saw him a very short time ago in Rome and afterwards with Luigi Vampa and Pasquale Solara in the marshy country beyond the Trastavere."
"What brought you and your companion to Paris?"
"We had a disagreement with old Solara, whom Luigi Vampa insisted we should obey implicitly. Solara was a tyrant; besides, he was as greedy and avaricious as a miser; he wanted everything for himself and would allow us nothing; he demanded that all the booty we acquired should be brought directly to him without division, stating that he would parcel out our shares; this he invariably failed to do and naturally we rebelled. Vampa, who has become, ifhe was not always so, old Pasquale's fast friend, decided against us whenever we carried our complaints to him. Finally we could stand it no longer; we were absolutely starving while Solara was heaping up riches, so we determined to quit the band. We did so and came to Paris, where we have been ever since."
"I will not ask you what you have been doing in Paris," said Monte-Cristo, smiling faintly; "in fact, I need not ask you, for I know; the chief of the poste has told me; but will you promise me to lead a better life in future and to try to induce Beppo to do the same, if I should succeed in effecting your release?"
"I cannot promise you that," replied the Italian, with averted eyes, "but I will promise you to return to Rome and take Beppo with me."
"That will do as well, or almost as well," said the Count. "Armed with such a promise, I think I can obtain your freedom. But you must swear to me to leave France immediately after you have been set at liberty, and I shall consider your oath as binding upon Beppo also."
"I swear to leave France the very moment I am free! I swear, too, that Beppo shall accompany me!"
"It is well," said the Count. "I shall be here again this afternoon or to-morrow at the furthest; but remember that before you leave this cell you must give me the full details of the conspiracy against young Massetti!"
"I shall remember it, Signor Count; have no fearof that! When I have spoken old Solara must look out for himself!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Monte-Cristo, sharply.
"Never mind at present, Signor Count! I will make everything clear to you on your return."
The Deputy from Marseilles quitted the cell and the poste, after having thanked the chief for his courtesy. He drove without delay to the office of the Procureur de la République in the Palais de Justice, and it was not long before he had matters satisfactorily arranged. The Procureur cheerfully agreed not to push the charge against the Italians on condition that Monte-Cristo pledged himself they should leave Paris immediately after the Juge d' Instruction had discharged them. This pledge the Count made without the slightest hesitation, and it was decided that the Juge d' Instruction should hold his formal examination at the poste that afternoon, when the Procureur would appear through his Deputy and order the cessation of the proceedings for full and sufficient reasons. The Procureur agreed to notify the Count of the exact hour of the examination that he might be present and ready to execute his share of the compact.
As Monte-Cristo drove back to the mansion of the Rue du Helder he could not help feeling considerably agitated. What was he about to learn from Peppino, and how would the Italian's disclosures affect Massetti? These were problems that the next few hours were destined to solve.
One of the first things Maximilian Morrel did, after he and his wife were comfortably installed at the Hôtel de France in Rome, was to make a formal call at the Palazzo Massetti and present his letters of introduction to the aged Count, Giovanni's father.
The old nobleman, who was at least seventy and very patriarchal in appearance because of his flowing white locks and long snowy beard, received the young Frenchman with great urbanity and condescension in a sumptuously furnished salon full of rare art treasures and dazzling with gold and satin. He met him with outstretched hand and said, warmly, at the same time glancing at the Captain's card as if to refresh his memory:
"I am delighted to have the honor of welcoming so distinguished a visitor as Captain Maximilian Morrel to the Palazzo Massetti. Pray be seated, Captain, and consider my residence as yours."
The Count spoke French fluently, without even the faintest trace of a foreign accent, and this fact as well as his charmingly cordial manner caused the young soldier immediately to feel at ease in his presence.
"I assure you, Count," returned Maximilian, bowing and then seating himself, "that the pleasure is mutual."
The aged nobleman also took a chair, and for a time they conversed agreeably on various subjects. The Count had been a brave, active soldier in his day and was much interested in French military affairs. The visitor, who was thoroughly posted on this topic and devotedly attached to his profession, gave his inquisitive host every detail he demanded and was particularly enthusiastic when he spoke of the Parisian workmen, who, as he asserted, could leave their accustomed toil at a moment's notice and encounter the perils of the battlefield with the endurance of trained veterans.
At length Maximilian thought he could venture to feel the ground in regard to his mission. It was certainly a very delicate matter, but the Count's politeness and bonhomie encouraged him to proceed. Looking the old nobleman straight in the face he said:
"I believe, Count, you have a son named Giovanni, who was recently in Paris."
Instantly the aged Roman's brow clouded and he cast a scrutinizing glance at his guest. Then he said, coldly:
"I have no son!"
Maximilian in his turn gazed searchingly at the Count, but the latter's visage had already assumed a stony and defiant look that seemed to oppose an insurmountable barrier to further conversation on thissubject. There was an awkward pause, during which the two men continued to gaze at each other. M. Morrel, though much embarrassed and disconcerted by the prompt check he had received, was the first to break the ominous silence.
"I ask your pardon, Count," said he, "but the young man of whom I spoke represented himself to be the Viscount Giovanni Massetti. Is it possible that he was an impostor?"
The Count's aspect became more frigid; he replied, icily:
"I repeat that I have no son!"
Maximilian was sorely puzzled. He knew not what to think or say. The old nobleman arose as if to terminate the interview. He showed no trace of excitement, but M. Morrel felt certain that he was a prey to an internal agitation that he with difficulty controlled. There could be no doubt that Giovanni was what he had represented himself to be, for had he not passed as the Viscount Massetti in Rome as well as in Paris? But one solution to the mystery offered itself—the Count had disowned his son, disowned him because of the terrible crime with which he was charged, from which he had been apparently unable to clear himself. M. Morrel also arose, but he was unwilling to depart thus, to be summarily dismissed as it were. He determined to make one more effort to get at the truth.
"Count," he said, "I do not wish you to misunderstand me, to impute to mere idle curiosity my desire to be informed concerning this unfortunate andunhappy young man. I know that a black cloud hangs over him, that at present he is branded and disgraced. I was not aware, however, that his family had cast him off."
"Monsieur," returned the Count, impatiently, "you are strangely persistent."
"I am persistent, Count," said Maximilian, earnestly, "because the Viscount Massetti is not alone in his misfortune. Another, an estimable young lady, is now languishing in Paris on his account."
"I pity her!" said the old nobleman, impressively.
"So do I," rejoined Maximilian; "from the bottom of my heart I pity them both and that is the reason I am here."
"May I ask the name of this estimable young lady?"
"Certainly. Her name is Zuleika; she is the daughter of the world-famous Count of Monte-Cristo."
Old Massetti gave a start and the muscles of his face twitched nervously, but he managed to control himself and said:
"Indeed! Permit me to inquire what relations the young man sustained towards the daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"She is or rather was betrothed to him."
"My God! Another victim! Does the girl love him?"
"She does, with all her soul!"
"Did he betray her, did he lead her astray?"
"No; his conduct towards her was in all respects that of a man of the strictest honor."
"Heaven be praised for that! Then no damage has been done! Let her forget him!"
"I fear, I know, she cannot!"
"She is young, isn't she?"
"Very young."
"Then time will heal her wounds. She must forget him, for he is unworthy of her love!"
"But do you feel no affection, no pity, for your son?"
"I tell you I have no son! How many times must I repeat it!"
The Count's look was harder than ever; all the pride and haughtiness of the Massettis seemed concentrated in the expression of his venerable countenance. Maximilian opened his lips to speak again, but the old nobleman stopped him and said, sternly:
"We have had enough of this! Captain Morrel, let what has passed between us on this wretched subject be forgotten. I shall be glad to receive you at any hour as a friend, but, if you value my acquaintance, my friendship, never mention that young man to me again! Farewell, Monsieur!"
The Count touched a bell and a valet appeared. Maximilian bowed to his host and, guided by the servant, quitted the palazzo. In the street he stood for a moment like one utterly bewildered. It was plain that the elder Massetti had fully made up his mind as to Giovanni's guilt, and if the father deserted his son what hope was there that the cold, heartless world would not follow his example? Maximilian was in despair. At the very first step in his missionhe had been unceremoniously and firmly halted. What was he to do? Should he acknowledge himself finally defeated because his initial attempt had failed so disastrously? No; that would be miserable cowardice! He would persist, he would make further investigations. He had undertaken this work for Zuleika, to restore happiness to her heart and light to her eyes, and he would not abandon the task, no matter how arduous it might be, until he had cleared Giovanni or obtained tangible, incontrovertible proof of his guilt!
Fortified by this resolution M. Morrel returned to the Hôtel de France. Valentine met him with a look of anxious inquiry. He endeavoured to seem cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but the effort was a pitiful failure. He sank into a chair and said to his wife in a dejected tone:
"I have seen the Count Massetti. He believes his son guilty and has disowned him!"
Valentine seated herself beside her husband and tenderly took his hand.
"Maximilian," she said, "it is a bad beginning, I confess, but you know the proverb and, I trust, the good ending will yet come!"
"It will not be our fault if it does not," replied her husband, heroically. "At all events, we will do our best."
"And we shall succeed! I feel confident of that!"
"Thank you for those words, Valentine! You are a perfect enchantress and have brought my dead hope to life!"
That evening the Morrels' decided to visit the Colosseum. They desired to see the gigantic remains of that vast fabric of the Cassars by moonlight, to inspect amid the silvery rays the crumbling courts and galleries that ages agone had echoed with the proud tread of the élite of barbaric old Rome! Conducted by a guide belonging to the Hôtel de France, they set out and were soon standing among the ruins of the great amphitheatre. There they were seized upon by a special cicerone, who seemed to consider the huge wreck of Flavius Vespasian's monument as his particular property and who could not be shaken off. He joined forces with the hôtel guide and the twain, jabbering away industriously in an almost unintelligible jargon, led the helpless visitors from one point of interest to another, showing them in turn broken columns, the seats of the Vestals, dilapidated stone staircases, the "Fosse des Lions" and the "Podium des Césars." Maximilian and Valentine were filled with unspeakable awe and admiration as they contemplated the remnants of ancient grandeur, and mentally peopled the wondrous Colosseum with contending gladiators, stately Patricians and the applauding herd of sanguinary Plebeians, Mme. Morrel shuddering as she thought of the thousands of high-bred dames and beautiful maidens who in the old days had pitilessly turned down their thumbs as a signal for the taking of human life! Although the moon was brilliant and flooded the antique amphitheatre with argentine light, the guides carried torches, which served to spread a flickering and wan illumination through the darkrecesses of the cavernous vomitariums, now the refuge of bats, owls, goats and serpents.
As they were passing through a long and unusually sombre gallery, the guides suddenly paused with a simultaneous cry and began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian and Valentine halted in affright, the former hurriedly drawing a small pistol to defend his wife and himself against the unknown and mysterious danger. They glanced about them but could see nothing, the torches revealing only huge stones and dust-covered vaults. M. Morrel demanded of the guides what was the cause of their terror, but for some moments could glean no intelligence from their vague, unintelligible replies. At last one of the cicerones managed to explain that they had seen the maniac! This was comforting information to the visitors! A maniac at large and ranging at night about amid the Colosseum's ruins! Valentine, trembling with fear, clung to her husband for protection.
"Is it a man or a woman?" asked Maximilian of one of the guides.
"A man, signor."
"Is he violent, dangerous?"
"No, signor, neither; but his appearance gives one a terrible shock, he is so wild-looking, and, besides, he mutters fearful curses! Holy Virgin, protect us!"
Maximilian felt his curiosity aroused; a strange desire took possession of him to see and speak with this singular madman, who frequented the gladiators' courts and muttered fearful curses to the broken columns of the Colosseum.
"Where is the maniac now?" he demanded of the guides. "Do you see him?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied one of the men, glancing about him uneasily.
"But where is he? Can you take us to him?" persisted Maximilian.
The cicerones looked at each other in amazement; the young soldier's questions startled them. Valentine was not less amazed and startled than the guides; she stared at her husband, speechless at the strange interest he displayed in this miserable outcast.
"Can you take us to him?" repeated Maximilian.
"Signor," said the guide belonging to the hôtel, "you are jesting!"
"I am not jesting, I am in earnest," said M. Morrel. "Answer my question."
"Of course, we can take you to him, signor," answered the guide; "but you had best avoid him; the sight of the wretched Massetti will drive your lady out of her wits!"
At the name Massetti both Maximilian and Valentine started; they glanced at each other and at the man who had spoken, thinking that they had not heard aright.
"Massetti!" cried M. Morrel, when his astonishment permitted him to find words. "Did you say Massetti?"
"Yes, signor, I said Massetti. The maniac is old Count Massetti's disowned and disinherited son!"
"What! The Viscount Giovanni?"
"The same, signor!"
"Oh! this is dreadful, dreadful, Maximilian!"whispered Valentine, clinging still closer to her husband.
"It is, indeed, dreadful; doubly so because entirely unexpected," said M. Morrel. "But I must see young Massetti—it was, no doubt, some mysterious influence, some indescribable magnetic power, operating between us, that made me wish to see this man, this maniac, as soon as he was mentioned!—I must see him and at once!"
As the guides possessed but a very slight knowledge of the French language, in which the dialogue between the husband and wife had been carried on, they failed to grasp the full import of the brief conversation; they, however, understood that their patrons were in some inexplicable way interested in the maniac of the Colosseum and appalled by the sudden discovery of his identity. The situation puzzled and dissatisfied them.
After thinking for an instant, Maximilian said to his wife:
"I will instruct the guide from the hôtel to conduct you back to our apartments. It is best that I should meet poor Massetti alone; seeing the wretched man in his present terrible condition would certainly shock and unnerve you."
Valentine gazed pleadingly into her husband's face. All her fear had left her. She was calm now and resolved. She had proposed the trip to Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and Zuleika. She said, bravely:
"Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."
Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.
"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with me and we will face the trial together!"
His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.
M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent bewilderment.
"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.
The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed Virgin.
The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast gladiatorial arena.
"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the Colosseum!"
Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction indicated but saw nothing.
"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.
Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone. The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was lifted menacingly.
"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"
M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its scope.
The guides fell upon their knees, uncovered their heads and prayed to the Virgin in low tones.
Maximilian took Valentine by the hand.
"Come," said he, "let us go to him!"
Mme. Morrel trembled slightly, but answered, firmly:
"I am ready!"
Then, hand in hand, slowly, cautiously, not knowing what might happen, they advanced towards the maniac of the Colosseum.
At the appointed hour, of which he had been duly notified by the Procureur de la République, the Count of Monte-Cristo entered the room set apart for the use of the Juge d' Instruction at the police poste where Peppino and Beppo were confined. The magistrate was already on the judicial bench and by his side stood the Deputy Procureur, who was explaining to him the wishes of his superior. As Monte-Cristo came in he bowed to the Juge and the Deputy, who returned his salute with all the respect due to so exalted a personage.
"Messieurs," said the Count, after this exchange of civilities, "you are, of course, aware of the reason of my presence here this afternoon, so we can proceed to business at once, but before the Italians are brought in I have a slight favor to ask."
"Name it, M. the Count," said the Juge d' Instruction, blandly. "We shall be happy to grant it if it lies within our power to do so."
"Well, messieurs," said the Count of Monte-Cristo, stepping upon the platform and leaning on the Juge's desk, "it is simply this. The prisoner calling himself Peppino is in possession of certain details to which I attach considerable importance. He has promised toreveal them to me as the price of his liberty and that of his companion. It is needless to say that the sole motive of my interference in this matter is to obtain these details. Now, from long experience I know all the trickery and treachery of the Italian nature. Once free, this man might snap his fingers in my face and refuse to speak. After the formalities of the law have been duly complied with, I wish the prisoners remanded to their cells and informed that their liberation will take place only when Peppino has given me the promised intelligence."
"That will be but a trifling stretch of my authority," replied the Juge d' Instruction, smiling, "if it is any stretch whatever, for, as I understand the case, the prisoners are to remain virtually in your custody until their departure from France, for which you have pledged your word to the Procureur de la République. Hence the favor you ask shall be cheerfully granted."
As he concluded the Juge d' Instruction glanced at the Deputy Procureur, who nodded assent.
The magistrate touched a bell that stood on his desk and said to the gardien de la paix who answered the summons:
"Bring in the prisoners."
Monte-Cristo and the Deputy retired from the platform, seating themselves in a couple of fauteuils placed at a table immediately in front of the Juge's desk.
As the two Italians were brought in Peppino glanced first at the magistrate on the bench and then at the Deputy. Finally his eyes rested on the Count,when his countenance instantly lighted up; he instinctively felt that Monte-Cristo's mysterious influence had been fully as potent with the authorities of Paris as with Luigi Vampa and his band, that the wonderful man had succeeded in effecting the liberation of himself and Beppo.
"Place the prisoners at the bar," said the Juge d' Instruction, addressing the gardien.
This order was instantly complied with and the two Italians stood facing the magistrate.
"Remove your hats."
The prisoners obeyed, Peppino with a confident smile, Beppo with a sullen scowl.
"Prisoners at the bar," said the Juge d' Instruction severely, "you are charged with the offense of picking pockets upon the public street. What have you to say?"
This formal and rather menacing beginning was both a surprise and a disappointment to Peppino. He glanced inquiringly at Monte-Cristo, but could read nothing in his pale, handsome face; then with a dark frown he made answer to the Juge, in a harsh, defiant tone:
"I am not guilty!"
The magistrate glanced at Beppo who in his turn repeated his comrade's words.
Here the Deputy Procureur arose and said to the Juge d' Instruction, in a full, clear voice:
"May it please you, honored Juge, as the representative of the Procureur de la République I desire to state that it is not my intention to push thecharge against the prisoners at the bar. For this course I have a good and sufficient reason. I, therefore, in my official capacity demand that the persons calling themselves Peppino and Beppo be discharged."
This demand was another surprise to Peppino, but he instantly divined that Monte-Cristo counted for a great deal in it and gazed at him with a look of gratitude. Beppo was absolutely astounded, for he could not understand the sudden, favorable turn in the situation.
The Juge d' Instruction, in pursuance of the form prescribed by law, said to the Deputy:
"May I ask the worthy representative of the Procureur de la République what are his good and sufficient reasons?"
"Certainly, honored Juge," replied the functionary. "His Excellency the Count of Monte-Cristo, here present, has entered into a compact with the Procureur, pledging himself in the event of the prisoners' discharge to induce them to quit France immediately."
At this Monte-Cristo arose and facing the judicial bench said, in that impressive manner which always marked his public speeches:
"Honored Juge, what the Deputy Procureur has just said is perfectly true in every respect. In the event of the prisoners' discharge I stand pledged to his superior in office to see that they return to Italy without delay."
The Deputy and the Count resumed their seats. The Juge d' Instruction appeared to think for a moment; then he said:
"My duty in the premises is plain. No evidence is presented against the prisoners and the official statement and demand of the Procureur de la République, expressed through his worthy and esteemed representative, preclude the necessity of a formal interrogation of the accused. I shall, therefore, discharge them, subject, however, to the control of his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo. Prisoners at the bar," he added, addressing Peppino and Beppo, "I remand you to your cells, your liberation to take place at such time as his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo may determine."
He resumed his seat upon the judicial bench, motioning to the gardien to remove the prisoners.
Ten minutes later Monte-Cristo was in Peppino's cell. The Italian was radiant with delight and very effusive in the expression of his thanks to his powerful and mysterious benefactor.
The Count waved his hand impatiently.
"A truce to thanks," he said. "Time presses, and the sooner you give me the details of the conspiracy against the Viscount Massetti the sooner you and your companion will be free."
Peppino threw himself half down upon his bed and Monte-Cristo seated himself on a rickety stool, his usually impassible countenance plainly showing the absorbing interest he felt in what was to follow.
The Italian cleared his throat and began.
"Signor Count," said he, "in the first place I must tell you that young Massetti has been disowned and disinherited by his proud, stern father, who believeshim one of the guiltiest and most depraved scoundrels on earth!"
Monte-Cristo gave a start; his face grew a shade paler than was habitual with him, but he said nothing; he was eagerly awaiting further developments.
"That is not all, however," continued Peppino, after a slight pause to note the effect of his communication upon his auditor, "nor is it the worst! The unfortunate Viscount, upon being ignominiously expelled from the Palazzo Massetti by the old Count's orders, immediately lost his senses; he is now a raving maniac!"
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, springing to his feet and pacing the cell, a prey to intense agitation he did not endeavour to control. "A raving maniac!—Giovanni a raving maniac! Oh! my daughter, my daughter!"
"All I say is the truth," resumed the Italian. "As I hope for Heaven I swear it!"
"But what has become of Massetti? Where is he?" demanded the Count, abruptly pausing in his walk. "Has he been consigned to some asylum?"
"He is an outcast and a wanderer," replied Peppino. "All Rome frowns upon him, avoids him as a pestilence is avoided. When I left Italy he had sought refuge amid the ruins of the Colosseum, where he was the terror alike of visitors and the superstitious guides. I saw him there with my own eyes the day before my departure. He was in rags, carried a tall staff, wore a crown of ivy leaves and spent his time cursing God and man. They say he neverleaves the ruins, save to beg a few scraps upon which to subsist, and that he sleeps at night in the depths of a dark vomitarium in company with bats, spiders and other unclean things."
"This is incredible!" cried Monte-Cristo, gazing piercingly at his companion and half suspecting that he was drawing upon his vivid Italian imagination for some of his graphic details.
"But it is true, Signor Count," protested Peppino, earnestly; "every word of it is true!"
"Go on," said Monte-Cristo, hoarsely, again seating himself on the stool. "Tell me about the conspiracy."
"I am coming to it, Signor Count," said the former bandit, assuming a sitting posture upon the edge of the bed. "You know, of course, that the cause of all the Viscount Massetti's trouble was a certain handsome young peasant girl named Annunziata Solara?"
"I have heard it was some woman, but that does not matter; proceed."
"This girl sold flowers in the Piazza del Popolo and on the Corso; there she attracted the attention of Massetti and your son Espérance."
"Espérance!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, his hands working nervously. "Oh! mon Dieu! the light is commencing to break!"
Peppino smiled reassuringly.
"Have no fear, Signor Count," said he; "in all the unhappy occurrences that brought the poor Viscount under suspicion your son bore a part as noble as it was honorable; you have abundant reason to be proud of him!"
Monte-Cristo uttered a sigh of relief.
"Can you prove this?"
"I can. Luigi Vampa and his whole band know your son to be entirely innocent so far as the flower-girl is concerned and will so express themselves. Even old Solara himself, hardened and despicable wretch as he is, will not seek to inculpate him. Rest assured that the proof of your son's innocence is ample."
"Luigi Vampa has already written to me that no guilt attaches to Espérance, but I must have more reliable vouchers than the letter or even the oath of a notorious brigand."
"Such vouchers can be procured without much difficulty. The unfortunate girl herself, who is now in the Refuge at Civita Vecchia, will exculpate him."
"But the details of the plot, the details of the plot!"
"Well, the Viscount learned from Annunziata that she dwelt in the country beyond the Trastavere and that evening set out to find her. Your son, who knew his object, followed him to protect him against the bandits. Massetti was halted by one of Vampa's men, who wounded him in the struggle that ensued, your son appearing in time to kill the brigand and rescue his friend. Shortly afterwards they encountered a large number of Vampa's band and narrowly escaped being hung to the nearest trees in revenge for the death of the man slain by your son. They were set free by Vampa himself as soon as he learned that Espérance was your son, Massetti havingdisclosed both his own identity and that of his comrade. The young men, it seems, had determined to return to Rome immediately after the Viscount received his wound, but Massetti grew faint from pain and loss of blood and it was resolved to seek for shelter. A peasant appeared at this juncture and, after some hesitation, agreed to conduct them to his father's cabin where they could pass the night. He was as good as his word. To be brief, the young men, who were disguised as peasants, soon found themselves in Pasquale Solara's hut and in the presence of the fair Annunziata herself."
Peppino paused for an instant and then continued:
"These preliminary details, Signor Count, are necessary to enable you to understand the conspiracy which was speedily to be hatched. The peasant, who had conducted Massetti and your son to the very spot the former had left Rome to seek, was Annunziata's brother. Old Pasquale Solara was absent from home at the time of the arrival of the strangers, but returned shortly afterwards. I have no doubt that he had long been in league with Luigi Vampa and had been secretly acting as his agent and confederate. At any rate, when he arrived he was well aware that the young men were at his cabin and was also thoroughly informed as to their identity, though, with his habitual cunning, he concealed both facts, feigning surprise and dissatisfaction when it was announced to him by his children that he had guests. Secretly he was delighted, for the presence of young Massetti gave him an opportunityat once to take a signal revenge on the old Count, whom he had long bitterly hated, and to divert the crashing stigma of a fiendish act he meditated from himself to the name and fame of another."
"Do you mean to assert that this wretched old man had base designs against his own daughter?" said the Count, his visage expressing all the horror he felt.
"Exactly," answered Peppino, coolly. "Old Solara, miserable miser as he is, had for a very large sum of the gold he so ardently coveted sold his own child, his beautiful daughter Annunziata, to the bandit chief Luigi Vampa!"