FOOTNOTE:[6]For a full account of the life and career of "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," see that powerful, romantic and absorbing novel, "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia.
[6]For a full account of the life and career of "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," see that powerful, romantic and absorbing novel, "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia.
[6]For a full account of the life and career of "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," see that powerful, romantic and absorbing novel, "The Countess of Monte-Cristo," published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia.
A year had elapsed since the events already recorded. Zuleika, having finished her studies at the convent school of the Sisterhood of the Sacred Heart, the Count of Monte-Cristo had quitted Rome and, with his family, was established in Paris in the palatial mansion, No. 27 Rue du Helder, formerly occupied by the Count de Morcerf. He was a member of the Chamber of Deputies, representing Marseilles, and was wedded to his first love, Mercédès, who had mysteriously reappeared and nursed him through a severe illness, which was immediately followed by their marriage. The revolution of 1848, which had placed M. Lamartine at the head of the Provisional Government, had put power and office within his grasp, but he had declined both, preferring to work in the wider field of universal human freedom. His eminent services during the revolution had rendered him immensely popular with the masses, and the fame of his matchless eloquence added to the vast influence he so modestly wielded. His colossal wealth, which he lavishly used to promote the great cause he championed, also tended to make him a conspicuous figure in the political and high social circles of the capital, though he strove to court retirement.
Zuleika and Espérance fairly adored their mild, kindly stepmother, who, on her side, was as devotedly attached to them as if they had been her own children. The Count noted this mutual attachment, which time only served to strengthen, and it filled his heart with joy and gratification. The family was, indeed, a happy one, and even the servants shared the general felicity.
Mlle. d' Armilly's influence over Captain Joliette great as it undoubtedly was, had been insufficient to induce that gallant and honorable young soldier to seek a rupture with the wonderful man to whom he was so vastly indebted and whom he so highly revered. This had at first caused a coldness between the revengeful prima donna and her admirer, but a reconciliation had ultimately taken place between them and they were now man and wife. Prior to their marriage Mlle. d' Armilly had acknowledged herself to be Eugénie Danglars, and thus the motive of her bitter hostility to the Count of Monte-Cristo was revealed. She had retired from the operatic stage, and had received a large sum of money, stated to be a legacy from her father, but generally believed to be a gift from the Count, intended by him in some degree to make amends to her for the sufferings she had endured by reason of his vengeance on the banker Danglars. The prima donna's brother Léon had turned out to be a woman masquerading in male attire, no other than Mlle. d' Armilly herself, Eugénie's former music-teacher, who had loaned her name to her friend when the latter started on her operaticcareer. These transformations had been immediately followed by another, Captain Joliette discarding his pseudonym and appearing as Albert de Morcerf. Paris had talked over and wondered at all this for a week, and then had completely forgotten it, turning its fickle attention to newer and more engrossing sensations. Albert's marriage and the legacy healed the breach between Eugénie and the Count of Monte-Cristo, and the young couple, together with the real Mlle. d' Armilly, had been added to the happy family in the mansion of the Rue du Helder.
The Viscount Giovanni Massetti had appeared in Paris. Immediately after his reckless visit to Zuleika in the convent garden and his wild interview with her there, he had gone to the Count of Monte-Cristo, avowed his love for Haydée's child and solicited her hand in marriage. He had been told to wait a year, a period he had passed he scarcely knew how, but it had been an eternity to him, an eternity fraught with restless anxiety, with alternations between ardent hope and the depths of despair. The expiration of his probation found him in the mansion of the Rue du Helder, renewing his earnest suit with the Count, who had granted him permission to win his daughter if he could. The young Italian had at once sought Zuleika, who had welcomed him as her lover and betrothed. Then a clash had suddenly arisen; Espérance had expressed his abhorrence of his sister's suitor, had given mysterious hints that had recalled the half-forgotten Roman scandal, and a separation between Giovanni and Zuleika had ensued, theformer refusing to speak out and clear himself, pleading his terrible oath of silence. In the course of his vague, unsatisfactory disclosures, Espérance had unguardedly mentioned the name of Luigi Vampa, and the Count of Monte-Cristo had written to the brigand chief, requesting such information as he possessed in regard to the impenetrable mystery. Vampa's reply had been a fearful arraignment of the youthful Viscount, but Zuleika could not believe her lover the depraved and guilty wretch the brigand chief represented him to be, asserting that there was something yet unexplained, something that would effectually exculpate him could it be reached. The Count of Monte-Cristo had at first inclined to the belief that Massetti was merely the victim of circumstances, of some remarkable coincidence, but Vampa's letter scattered this belief to the winds and he demanded that the Viscount should conclusively prove his innocence. Zuleika had meanwhile banished her lover from her presence, but her heart yearned for him and defended him in spite of everything. She therefore sent him Vampa's letter, assuring him of her belief in his innocence and commanding him to prove it to her and to the world. Thereupon Giovanni had instantly quitted Paris. His sudden disappearance seemed like a flight; it caused scandal's thousand tongues to wag remorselessly; but, although he left no word for her, Zuleika knew her command had sent him to Italy to clear his name and record in her eyes; she was firmly convinced that she would see him again, that he would return to Paris rehabilitated.
Such was the general condition of affairs, as affecting the Monte-Cristo family, at the time the thread of this narrative is resumed.
It was the month of July. The heat in Paris was intense, absolutely stifling; a white glow seemed to fall from the breezeless, yellow atmosphere, scorching the very pavements; for weeks there had been no rain, not the slightest sign of a cloud in the pitiless heavens. The streets were almost deserted; even that favored thoroughfare of fashion, the Rue de la Paix, boasted of but few promenaders; the only spot in request was the Bois de Boulogne, with its magnificent trees and deliciously shaded avenues; the Champs-Elysées, throughout its entire extent, from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de l' Étoile, was like a sun-swept desert, and its picturesque marchands de coco, with their shining mugs, snow-white aprons and tinkling bells, found only a limited demand for their liquorice water and lemon juice, while even the Théâtres de Guignol failed to arrest the rare passers.
In the vast garden of the Monte-Cristo mansion, notwithstanding its power elsewhere, the sun seemed to have been successfully defied; there the trees, shrubs and plants were not parched, but preserved all their freshness and beauty, suggesting the coolness of early spring rather than the sweltering heat of midsummer, while the parterres were brilliant with gorgeous bloom and penetrating perfumes loaded the air. Near a little gate opening upon the Rue du Helder, early one morning, Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly were sitting on a rustic bench beneath an amplehoneysuckle-covered arbor. They had come to the garden from the breakfast-room to rest and chat after their meal. The former music-teacher was telling her companion of her stage experience and of the many adventures she had met with during her operatic career. In the midst of a most interesting recital, she suddenly paused, fixing her eyes upon the little gate, with a cry of surprise and terror. Zuleika followed the direction of her glance and gave a start as she saw, leaning against the bars of the gate, a sinister-looking man, clad in dusty, tattered garments, who was peering at her companion and herself with eyes that glittered like those of some venomous serpent. When he noticed that he was observed, the man pulled a greasy, weather-stained cap from his head, disclosing a profusion of matted, whitened locks, and, stretching a grimy hand, with hooked fingers that resembled the claws of an enormous bird, through the bars, said, in the hoarse tones peculiar to the outcasts of the streets:
"Charity, for the love of God!"
The man seemed more like a thief than a beggar. Nevertheless, Mlle. d' Armilly, who was the first to recover her self-possession, drew a few sous from her pocket and advanced to place them in his palm. As she came closer to him, the mendicant acted very strangely. Instead of taking the money, he suddenly withdrew his hand, staring at Mlle. d' Armilly with an expression of mingled terror and amazement upon his evil countenance. Then he quickly turned from the gate, thrust on his cap and started off at a rapid pace. Mlle. d' Armilly also was singularly affected; shedropped the sous, became ashy pale and would have fallen to the ground had not Zuleika sprung to her side and caught her in her arms.
"What is the matter, Louise?" cried the girl, astonished at the beggar's behavior and still more so at the effect he had produced upon her companion.
"I have seen a ghost!" replied Mlle. d' Armilly, in a startling whisper.
"A ghost?"
"Yes! Oh! let us quit the garden at once!"
"The ghost of whom?"
"I dare not say! Come, come, I cannot remain here another second! How fortunate that young Madame de Morcerf was not with us! She would have been driven mad!"
"Albert's wife? You talk wildly, Louise. What interest could she feel in that wretched outcast?"
"What interest? Do not ask me. I cannot, I must not tell you! Oh! it is terrible!"
"Will you tell Albert's wife of what you have seen?"
"No! a thousand times no! She must not even suspect that man's return from the grave! I entreat you to say nothing to her or any one else!"
"I shall be silent upon the subject; but that beggar was not a ghost; he was a most substantial reality. Something frightened him away, something, doubtless, that he saw in the street, perhaps a sergent de ville. Your recognition of him was fancied."
"It was not fancied. But we must not stay here; I would not see that face, those eyes again for worlds!"
Zuleika took her friend's arm and walked with her towards the mansion, endeavoring as they went along to reassure her, to reason her out of her fright. Her efforts, however, proved altogether futile. Mlle. d' Armilly was utterly unnerved and at once retired to her room.
Notwithstanding her willingness to believe that Mlle. d' Armilly had been deceived with regard to the identity of the beggar and, in her confusion, had confounded him with some one else, Zuleika could not altogether shake off a feeling of vague apprehension, of ill-defined terror when she thought over the singular conduct and wild agitation of the former music-teacher in the quiet and solitude of her own chamber. Why had Mlle. d' Armilly been so stricken at the sight of the mendicant? Why had she so earnestly entreated her to say nothing of what had occurred to any one, and, especially, to avoid all mention of the matter to Albert de Morcerf's wife? Mlle. d' Armilly had seen too much of the world to be frightened by a mere trifle. Was it possible that the ragged outcast had been in some way identified with young Madame de Morcerf's operatic career, that he had been her lover? The latter supposition would furnish a plausible cause for the former music-teacher's terror, as the reappearance of a lover might lead to disclosures well-calculated to seriously disturb the happiness and tranquillity of the newly-made husband and wife. Zuleika had heard that Eugénie had been much courted during the period she was on the stage, that she had numbered her ardent admirers by scores, but this man seemed too old,too forlorn, to have recently been in a position to scatter wealth at the feet of a prima donna. Besides, Mlle. d' Armilly had spoken of him as a ghost and had appeared to refer him to a period more remote. Zuleika had also heard of Mlle. Danglars' broken marriage-contract away back in the past. Could this beggar be the scoundrel who had masqueraded under the assumed title of Prince Cavalcanti and had so nearly become her husband? Perhaps; but even if he were that unscrupulous wretch, what harm could his reappearance do at this late day, now that the old story had been thoroughly sifted and almost forgotten? Albert was well aware of all the details of the Cavalcanti episode, and it was hardly likely that anything further could be exposed that would disturb either him or his wife. No, the grimy, white-haired, sinister-looking stranger could not be the quondam Prince; he was some one else, some one more to be feared. But who was he, if not the miserable son of Villefort? Zuleika was more perplexed and disturbed than she was willing to admit, even to herself. If she could only speak with the Count of Monte-Cristo, tell him all, some explanation of the mystery might, doubtless, be obtained, an explanation that would, at least, calm her vague fears; but that was impossible; her promise to Mlle. d' Armilly to be silent sealed her lips as effectually with her father as with young Madame de Morcerf. Whatever might be her fears, she would have to bear them alone, or, at the best, share them with Mlle. d' Armilly, who, evidently, would give her no further satisfaction.
Meanwhile the man who had caused all this troubleafter having almost run quite a distance along the Rue du Helder, utterly oblivious of the attention he drew to himself from the rare passers, turned into the Rue Taitbout, thence reached the Rue de Provence and finally found himself in the Cité d' Antin. There he made his way into a small drinking-shop or caboulot, patronized by some of the worst prowlers about that section of Paris. The room he entered was unoccupied save by a slatternly young woman, who sat behind the counter reading a greasy copy of the Gazette des Tribunaux. The man went to the counter and, throwing down the price, demanded a glass of brandy, which he swallowed at a gulp. Then he addressed the slatternly young woman, who, with her paper still in one hand, was half-smiling, half-scowling at him.
"Is Waldmann here?" he asked, with the air of a man who feels himself thoroughly at home.
"Yes," answered the young woman, resuming her seat and her reading; "he is in the back room, playing piquet with Peppino, Beppo and Siebecker."
"Good!" said the man. "I am in luck. I scarcely expected to find them all in at this hour."
With this he opened a glazed door, and, stepping into the back room, closed it behind him. The players, who were seated at a table, with mugs of beer beside them, glanced up quickly from their game as he came in, and one of them, a heavy-framed, beetle-browed German, called out to him, speaking French:
"How now, Bouche-de-Miel, what is the matter? You are out of breath and as pale as if you had been shadowed by an Agent de la Sureté!"
"I have not been shadowed, Waldmann," answered the beggar or Bouche-de-Miel, "but I have made a startling discovery."
The players at once put down their cards and leaned forward to hear. They were a rough, desperate-looking set; on their ill-omened and sunburnt visages thief could be read as plainly as if it were written there, and perhaps, also, the still more significant word, assassin! Two of the men were Italians, evidently the Peppino and Beppo referred to by the slatternly young woman at the counter in the outer room. Besides Waldmann there was another German. This was Siebecker. Tall, slim, with yellow hair and moustache, he had some claim to good looks; his attire was quite respectable compared to that of the rest; had he not possessed a pair of restless, demoniac eyes, he might have passed for a person of tolerably fair repute, but those glaring, tiger-like orbs betrayed his true character and stamped him as a very dangerous member of the criminal fraternity. Waldmann appeared to be the leader of the coterie. The Italians wore blue blouses, but the distinctive garment of the Parisian workman could not conceal a certain brigandish air that was second nature to them.
"Let's hear about your startling discovery, Bouche-de-Miel," said Waldmann. "Take a seat and tell us."
The beggar dropped upon a wooden chest, saying, in a tone of deep dejection, as he did so:
"Much as I long to take a hand in to-night's little job, I'm afraid you'll have to let me off!"
"Stuff!" cried Waldmann. "You are afraid ofmeeting that terrible fellow, the Count of Monte-Cristo! But the startling discovery—out with it, man!"
"Yes; the discovery, the discovery!" demanded the others, impatiently.
"Well," said Bouche-de-Miel, "I went to the Rue du Helder this morning, as agreed upon, and made a survey of Monte-Cristo's mansion. Nothing easier than to get in, as no watch is kept at night, and the Count is not in the least suspicious although he has millions of francs in his safe, to say not a word of jewels and other valuables. As I was about leaving the premises, I stopped at a little gate giving access to the garden from the street, having noticed that the key had been carelessly left in the lock on the outside. I was leaning against the gate, taking a wax impression of this key, which would assure us entrance without trouble, when, happening to glance through the grating into the garden, I saw two women; they had noticed me and seemed greatly frightened. Instantly I thrust my hand through the bars and asked for charity. One of the women summoned up sufficient courage to arise and approach me; she was about to give me some money, when suddenly she recognized me in spite of all the changes in my appearance. I also recognized her and hastened away as rapidly as I could."
"Well, what of all this?" said Waldmann, calmly. "It amounts to nothing whatever."
"It amounts to so much that I cannot go with you to Monte-Cristo's house and run the risk of meeting that woman!"
Waldmann gave vent to a loud laugh; the others smiled.
"I never before heard of a Frenchman who was afraid to meet a woman!" said Siebecker, much amused.
"I tell you I cannot go; you must let me off," said Bouche-de-Miel, obstinately.
"What!" cried Peppino. "Do you allow a woman to stand between you and your vengeance against the Count of Monte-Cristo? Remember Luigi Vampa's bill of fare!"
Bouche-de-Miel glared at the Italian savagely.
"There is no need for me to remember it," returned he, bitterly. "I have never forgotten it. Neither have I forgotten your share in that infamous business!" he added, between his teeth.
"It was my duty to do as I was bidden!" retorted Peppino.
"I will have my revenge on you yet!" muttered Bouche-de-Miel, menacingly.
"We shall see!" answered the Italian, defiantly.
Waldmann interposed and said, sternly:
"No quarreling! We are brothers and are united for mutual gain. Bouche-de-Miel, you must go with us to-night. I order you to go and will take no excuse! Besides, if, as Peppino says, you have vengeance to gratify against the Count of Monte-Cristo, the opportunity is too precious for you to neglect it! At any rate, go you shall! Where is the wax impression of the key?"
Bouche-de-Miel handed the German a small packagewhich, he took from his pocket. Waldmann gave it to Siebecker, directing him to fashion a key in accordance with it. In the meantime the beggar had been thinking. His face showed that a fierce struggle was taking place in his mind, a struggle between fear and a burning desire for revenge. The latter ultimately triumphed, and the beggar, rising from the chest, went to the table, bringing his fist down upon it with a resounding blow.
"I will accompany you, mates!" he said, with wildly flashing eyes and in an excited voice. "Monte-Cristo robbed me, ruined me and drove me into the world a penniless vagrant! I will have my revenge!"
"Spoken like a hero!" said Waldmann, enthusiastically. "We will meet at the little gate on the Rue du Helder at midnight. Siebecker will give you the key, Bouche-de-Miel, and you will open the gate. You need not fear recognition, even if you should meet the woman you have spoken of face to face, for you will be masked like the rest of us. If you are anxious about her safety, I will tell you now that we only want Monte-Cristo's millions; we do not mean murder."
"But what if murder should be necessary, if it cannot be avoided?"
Waldmann shrugged his shoulders.
"Then we must protect ourselves," he answered, phlegmatically.
Thereupon the coterie of miscreants separated, to pass away the hours as best they might, until the time for the brilliant stroke they meditated arrived.
The Count of Monte-Cristo was in his study, pacing to and fro; he was plunged in thought, and an expression indicative of deep concern was upon his pale, but resolute countenance. Ever and anon he would pause in front of a small table on which was a telegraphic outfit for the sending and receiving of messages, listening with close attention to the sounds given forth, for, although sound reading was not much practiced by the telegraphers of that period, Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have all the accomplishments of his own age and those of ages to come, was a proficient at it, as well as a remarkably rapid and correct operator.
It was nearly midnight. The entire family in the mansion of the Rue du Helder had retired to rest, with the exception of its head, who had remained up in response to a summons from Berlin to be ready to receive the details of a secret meeting of a vast society of Prussian patriots, which would be sent to him in cipher by one of his most enthusiastic and active agents for the promotion of the cause of universal human liberty. The intense heat that had prevailed all day had been but slightly moderated by the advent of a close, sultry night; there was not the faintest breezein the heavy, oppressive air, and the blue sky, full of stars and flooded with brilliant moonlight, was without a cloud. The silvery brightness poured in through the open windows of the study, so illuminating the apartment that the Count had extinguished his lamp. Fantastic shadows were projected on the floor by the book-cases and various articles of furniture, looking like gigantic and dwarfed shapes of demons and elfs and lending the scene a weird, supernatural aspect. Monte-Cristo walked amid these distorted shadows like some master magician communing with the dark, mysterious spirits that received his commands in silence and then vanished to execute them without question or debate.
The Count's thoughts were of a sombre nature; he was pondering over the problem of French freedom, wondering how long the volatile, changeful nation with which he had cast his lot would retain the liberty acquired by the revolution that had overturned Louis Philippe's throne and given the people power. He distrusted the events of the near future. Already the Bonapartists were active and Louis Napoleon was looming up as a formidable figure. The nephew of the great conqueror of Europe professed republican sentiments, but Monte-Cristo doubted his sincerity as well as his ability to govern the restless population of Paris. He foresaw imitation of the famous Emperor; his prophetic eye pierced through Louis Napoleon's presidential aspirations and saw beyond them a second Empire not less brilliant but not more substantial than the first. The policy of the Bonaparteswas to dazzle the masses, the men of the barricades, by a show of grandeur and amuse rather than force them into submission. The Count had held aloof from Louis Napoleon, had even opposed him to the full extent of his mighty influence; he had done so not from any personal considerations, but for the good of the entire French people, for the preservation intact of the fabric of freedom, the fruit of the revolution of 1848.
Meanwhile, as these thoughts coursed through Monte-Cristo's active brain, the telegraphic instrument went ticking steadily on, but the information he expected was not conveyed. News flashed to him from every centre of political agitation save Berlin; there an obstinate, ominous silence prevailed. Several times he sought to open communication with his confederate in the Prussian capital, but his signals were unanswered. At last he paused wearily in his walk, throwing himself in a huge arm-chair; fatigue weighed upon his eyelids and he speedily sank into an uneasy, broken sleep, from which he started at intervals, disturbed by some vague, disquieting dream. Ever and anon, as he dozed, that smile that made him so handsome would steal over his manly countenance, bringing out into bold relief all his wonderful nobility and benevolence of expression.
As midnight struck in every clock-tower in Paris, the usual solitude of the Rue du Helder at that dead hour was broken by the appearance of a sinister figure at the little gate of Monte-Cristo's garden. This figure was almost instantly followed by anotherhardly less forbidding. Both wore masks and moved as stealthily as cats. The second figure addressed the first, speaking in a cautious whisper:
"Bouche-de-Miel, is that you?"
"Yes. Siebecker, have you the key?" muttered the other, scarcely above his breath.
"Here it is, old man. Now to work. The others will be on hand in a moment. Open the gate and let us get in."
Bouche-de-Miel took the key, which was covered with oil to prevent grating, and inserted it in the lock. It fitted to a charm and turned noiselessly. Bouche-de-Miel gave the gate a gentle push; it yielded, swinging open without a sound. The two men passed inside, partially closing it after them. The moonlight fell upon the seat that Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had occupied beneath the honey-suckle-covered arbor that morning; Bouche-de-Miel gave a sudden start as he glanced at it, half-repenting of having yielded to Waldmann's command under the impulse of his hatred for Monte-Cristo and his desire for revenge; he trembled violently in spite of all his efforts to maintain composure and his face became one mass of sweat beneath his protecting mask. Siebecker noticed his agitation and gave vent to a smothered curse.
"Sacré nom d' un chien!" he muttered, between his teeth, "if you go on like that, old man, it would have been better had Waldmann let you off. You can't do this job with an unsteady hand. Brace up, brace up, Bouche-de-Miel! What's that?"
There was a slight noise at the gate. Grasping his tremulous companion by the arm, Siebecker hurriedly drew him behind a clump of small chestnut trees. No sooner were they hidden than three masked men cautiously opened the gate and came on tip-toe into the garden. Waldmann, Peppino and Beppo had arrived and were ready to do their share of the nefarious work. Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel silently emerged from their hiding-place and joined them.
Waldmann glanced about him, evidently satisfied.
"So far so good," said he, in an undertone. "We are all here on time. Do not let us waste an instant. Have you steadied your nerves with plenty of brandy, Bouche-de-Miel?"
"I'm all right," replied the latter, doggedly, though there was a perceptible quiver in his voice as he spoke.
"He has just had another fit of fear," said Siebecker, disdainfully. "I think we would do well to leave him with Peppino and Beppo to keep watch in the garden! It won't be safe to take him with us into the house, Waldmann!"
The leader went up to Bouche-de-Miel and gave him a rough shake.
"You are a coward!" said he, savagely. "That woman story you told us was all bosh. You are afraid of meeting Monte-Cristo, as I saw very plainly this morning!"
This taunt stung Bouche-de-Miel to the quick and restored to him all his courage. He faced Waldmann unflinchingly and retorted:
"I am no coward and I am not afraid of Monte-Cristo!"
"Then what is the matter with, you?"
"That is my business, but it shan't damage this night's work. I will go with you to the house and do my part as well as you or Siebecker. You said not to waste an instant. What are you waiting for? Go on!"
"Do you swear to stand by us to the last whatever happens?"
"I swear it!"
"I will trust you."
"And you will have no reason to repent of your trust. If I meet Monte-Cristo I will kill him as I would a mongrel cur! Does that satisfy you?"
"How about your mysterious woman?"
Bouche-de-Miel could not repress a start, but he clenched his fists firmly and replied, with an effort:
"Never mind her! She must take care of herself!"
"Who is she?"
"Never mind her, I say! If harm comes to her it will be her own fault!"
Waldmann appeared reassured; nevertheless he whispered in Bouche-de-Miel's ear with a terrible earnestness that plainly showed he meant what he said:
"I told you I would trust you, and I will. But if you weaken, if you seek to act the traitor to save that woman, I will blow your brains out where you stand!"
Bouche-de-Miel shrugged his shoulders.
"If I weaken, if I seek to betray you, shoot me on the spot! I give you leave! But if you use your pistol, it will be on other game than me! Let us to work!"
Leaving the two Italians on guard at the gate, Waldmann and Siebecker, with Bouche-de-Miel between them, went stealthily towards the house, walking on the grass that the sound of their footsteps might be muffled. They kept well in the shadows of the trees, reaching the rear of the mansion unobserved and without incident. Waldmann removed his shoes and the others followed his example.
"Everything is silent," he whispered. "No doubt all the members of the household, including the redoubtable Count himself, are fast asleep. We shall have an easy thing of it."
He went upon the back porch and tried the door of the servants' quarters. It had been carelessly left unlocked. He opened it and peered within. Only darkness and silence there. He beckoned to his comrades; they also came on the porch. Waldmann produced a dark lantern from under his coat; the three robbers entered Monte-Cristo's house.
"The Count's study where he keeps his money is on the second floor," whispered Bouche-de-Miel. "We can reach it by going up the servants' stairway over there."
He pointed across the small corridor in which they stood. Waldmann cautiously opened his lantern and the narrow thread of light that came from it revealed the stairway. The miscreants mounted it and, guided by Bouche-de-Miel, who seemed to be thoroughlyfamiliar with the topography of the mansion, were soon in front of Monte-Cristo's study. The door was ajar. Bouche-de-Miel glanced in, but instantly withdrew his head, motioning Waldmann and Siebecker to look. They did so, and saw a man asleep in an arm-chair; simultaneously a sharp click in the room alarmed them; they clenched their teeth, set their lips firmly together and drew their pistols. The sharp click was repeated, followed in rapid succession by several others. It was the telegraphic instrument—the news from Berlin had come!
Instantly the Count was wide awake. He leaped from his chair and ran to the instrument, to the clicking of which he eagerly and intently listened. The vast society of Prussian patriots had met. The delegates had been long in arriving, for, although the utmost secrecy had been used, the royal police had got wind of their presence in the capital and of the proposed assemblage. Still, it was hoped that the meeting would not be disturbed, as the rendezvous was in a secluded locality, of which, it was thought, the authorities were not suspicious. Scarcely, however, had the president taken his seat when the police poured in through every door and window. All the patriots were arrested, save Monte-Cristo's confederate, who by a lucky chance succeeded in deceiving the myrmidons of the law.
The Count's brow clouded as he heard this startling intelligence ticked off by the telegraphic instrument. He put his hand to his forehead at the conclusion of the ominous message and staggered like a drunkenman back to his arm-chair, into which he sank. As he did so, Waldmann, Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel, who immediately rushed forward, seized him and held him there with the strength of iron. Waldmann slipped a gag into his mouth and Siebecker bound him firmly to the chair with a stout cord he took from his pocket. The binding accomplished, the robbers quitted their hold of the Count and turned in search of the plunder they had come for—the millions of Monte-Cristo!
Suddenly there was a loud cry. It came from Bouche-de-Miel. The others turned and looked at him, their pistols in their hands. He was staring at a white-robed woman, who stood like a ghost in the open doorway of the study. At that juncture another door opened and Ali, the faithful Nubian, followed by all the valets of the household, sprang into the room, falling upon the bewildered scoundrels ere they had recovered from their surprise. There was a brief struggle, but the servants were unarmed, and the robbers, disengaging themselves from the clutches of their adversaries, kept them at bay with their pistols and slowly backed from the apartment. In the conflict, however, Bouche-de-Miel's mask was torn from his face, and his countenance was no sooner visible than the white-robed woman ran towards him with outstretched arms, breathlessly exclaiming:
"My father! my father!"
Bouche-de-Miel motioned her from him; then he moved as if to approach her, urged on by a feeling he was altogether unable to master; but Waldmann,still keeping his pistol pointed at Ali and his companions, seized him by the arm with a grip of iron and drew him away. The foiled robbers succeeded in making their escape from the house, and the garden.
The Count of Monte-Cristo had been unbound and ungagged by Ali when the robbers had left the study. Alarmed by the unwonted noise and commotion, Captain de Morcerf, Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had appeared upon the scene, but too late to witness the conflict with the miscreants. In a few words the Count explained to them what had happened. Zuleika glanced at Mlle. d' Armilly as if she suspected that the strange beggar of that morning had something to do with this midnight invasion of their home; Louise looked uneasy and agitated, but preserved a stony silence.
The white-robed woman still stood as if stupefied. Mlle. d' Armilly went to her and asked, solicitously:
"Eugénie, what is the matter?"
This question aroused young Madame de Morcerf, for it was she, from her stupor. She threw herself into a chair and covered her face with her hands, moaning piteously:
"Oh! Louise! Louise! I have seen my father! He was one of the robbers! It is terrible, terrible!"
Captain de Morcerf, who had gone to his wife's side and tenderly taken her hand, gazed inquiringly at the Count.
"I saw the man she speaks of perfectly," said Monte-Cristo, in reply to his look, "and he was certainly the Baron Danglars!"
The Count of Monte-Cristo took no steps to have the miscreants who had invaded the sanctity of his home tracked and apprehended; he did not even instruct the Commissary of Police of the quarter in regard to what had happened. He was entirely satisfied that the sole aim of the wretches had been robbery, and, as that aim had been defeated, he did not desire to court further publicity by putting the matter in the hands of the authorities. One thing, however, gave the Count considerable uneasiness, namely, the fact that Danglars had been one of the robbers. He did not doubt that the former banker, whom he had financially wrecked and forced to fly ignominiously from Paris in the past in pursuit of his scheme of wholesale vengeance against the enemies of his youth, had planned the robbery in order to gratify his burning thirst for revenge; he also felt equally certain that Danglars meant further mischief, if he could accomplish it, and that his presence in the city would be a constant menace to his tranquillity and prosperity, nay, even to his domestic happiness; but his feelings had undergone a radical change since the old days of restless, inexorable retribution, and he now pitied the man he had so ruthlessly overthrownas much as he had formerly hated him. Danglars had fallen very low, indeed, to be the companion and accomplice of midnight marauders, and the Count's very soul ached as he thought to what depths of poverty and ignominy he had been the means of reducing him. He would have sought him out amid the dangerous criminal population of Paris, traced him to his den of depravity and wretchedness, and offered him money and the means of social rehabilitation had there been the slightest reason to hope that he could thereby rescue the miserable man from the slough of iniquity into which he was plunged, but he knew too well Danglars' implacable character and deep-seated hatred against himself to attempt anything of the kind. Should he penetrate into his haunts and meet him the result could only be disastrous, for Danglars would take a fiendish delight in betraying him to his desperate associates, who would not hesitate even to murder him at his bidding, and the former banker was fully capable of compassing his assassination in the most horrible fashion as a crowning stroke of diabolical revenge. There was a time when Monte-Cristo valued life very little, when he would gladly have accepted death as a welcome avenue to endless rest and peace, but that time had passed; since then he had contracted ties that bound him to existence with insurmountable strength; he had now a family, was surrounded by beings he tenderly loved and cherished, beings for whom he must live and over whose destinies he must closely watch. He was wedded to Mercédès, who lavished upon him in her maturityall the wealth of overwhelming affection she had showered upon him before the fateful conspiracy that had consigned him as the sailor Dantès to the dark, noisome dungeon of the Château d' If and given her to the arms of Fernand, the Catalan. Haydée had fluttered over the page of his stormy, agitated history, leaving him Espérance and Zuleika as reminders of a happy, but all too brief dream, an elfin vision of enchantment that had vanished as swiftly as it had come. But his son and daughter had twined themselves about the fibres of his heart as the clinging ivy twines about the shattered fragments of some grand and imposing ruin, and each day, each moment, as it sped by, only served the more to reveal to him the longings and the devotion of a father's soul. Besides, Albert de Morcerf and his young wife Eugénie were now thoroughly endeared to him, and he felt that by doing everything in his power to augment their happiness he was gradually paying off the heavy debt he owed to Danglars' so long abandoned child. Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo wished to live, first for his family, then for the great cause of human liberty with which he had become so thoroughly identified. If Danglars came in his way he would endeavor to reclaim and propitiate him, but he could not seek him out.
Mercédès at the period of the attempted robbery was absent on a visit to some friends in Marseilles, and by common consent it was resolved not to inform her of Danglars' reappearance, as the intelligence could not fail to be a prostrating shock to her.
Ever since that memorable midnight scene in Monte-Cristo's study young Madame de Morcerf had acted like one overwhelmed. She said nothing, even to her husband or Louise d' Armilly, concerning her wretched father, but it was plain that intense grief and shame were preying upon her. This greatly distressed Albert and, seeing his beloved wife droop day by day, he, without saying a word to any one, formed a startling and perilous resolution. He determined to find Danglars' abode, to see his father-in-law and endeavor to persuade him to relinquish his career of crime. In this he was actuated by two powerful motives—the desire to relieve Eugénie's distress and suspense and the wish to avoid the scandal that would be sure to come should the former banker be caught red-handed in the commission of some fearful crime and a legal investigation reveal his identity.
Zuleika studiously avoided referring to the attempted robbery and the recognition of Danglars by her father and Eugénie. She was aware of the part Monte-Cristo had played in his enemy's fall and disgrace, and did not deem it prudent to awaken the bitter recollections of the lurid and dreadful past.
Mlle. d' Armilly also said nothing in reference to the reappearance of Danglars, but it was very clear to the observant Zuleika that she expected and dreaded further harm from Monte-Cristo's revengeful enemy. At night she locked herself in her chamber, and, notwithstanding the almost unbearable heat of the weather, securely closed and fastened all her windows.
The Count himself was as reserved as ever, never once mentioning either the midnight invasion of his mansion or the unexpected advent of his most deadly foe. To everybody in the household he seemed either to have forgotten or to have succeeded in dismissing from his mind those events so fraught with excitement and possibilities of future disaster. But Monte-Cristo, though he preserved an impassible exterior, had neither forgotten nor dismissed them. He had simply applied to himself his own famous maxim, "Wait and Hope." He was waiting and hoping for the best, for God in His inscrutable wisdom to bring mysterious good out of apparent evil.
Meanwhile Captain de Morcerf had been busily engaged in making thorough but cautious investigations. He had formed the acquaintance of a former Agent de la Sureté, who had been of great use to him in describing the various outlaws and prowlers of Paris, and in pointing out to him their secret dens and the secluded places of rendezvous where they met, drank vile liquors, and, under the maddening influence of absinthe and alcohol, plotted their crimes and atrocities of every description. This man, another Quasimodo in point of hideous aspect, had been dismissed from the detective service because of his inability to keep sober, but he had not forgotten the resources of his profession, and money lavishly bestowed upon him made him Captain de Morcerf's most obedient and faithful slave. Cash in hand rendered him indefatigable and the prospect of obtaining more kept him discreet. He had taught his employer the artof effectually disguising himself, of passing for a veritable zigue, and, as he was well-known to the desperadoes he had formerly shadowed and was welcomed by them as a sterling good fellow, he was enabled to take the Captain with impunity among scoundrels who would not have hesitated to cut his throat had they known who he was.
As Albert did not know what name Danglars had assumed and was unwilling to give the ex-detective his true cognomen, the latter had nothing to guide him in this respect. Neither was the Captain cognizant of the changes that time and his mode of life had wrought in the former banker's personal appearance, so he could only describe him as he had looked in the years gone by. This afforded Mange, such was the name of the dismissed policeman, no indication whatever by which he could profit. He, nevertheless, was not disconcerted by the paucity of information. He knew that young Morcerf was searching for a man who had been one of the party engaged in the attempt to rob the Monte-Cristo mansion on the Rue du Helder, and that knowledge was sufficient for him. He very soon discovered that Waldmann, Siebecker, Bouche-de-Miel and two Italians had formed that party, and Bouche-de-Miel being the only Frenchman in the coterie he had no difficulty whatever in fixing upon him as the individual wanted. He imparted his discovery and conclusion to his employer, together with the intelligence that the men were in the habit of congregating in the little caboulot of the Cité d' Antin. Albert rewarded Mange liberally forhis zeal and promised him a very much larger sum should Bouche-de-Miel turn out to be his man. It was immediately arranged that Mange should conduct the Captain to the caboulot that very night and, if possible, bring him face to face with the Frenchman supposed to be Danglars.
In accordance with this agreement, as soon as night had fallen, Mange was waiting for his employer at the corner of the Rue Taitbout and the Rue de Provence. He was not kept long at his post, for Albert speedily made his appearance, dressed in a blouse like a workman; his rough trousers were tucked in the tops of his dusty boots and on his head he wore a battered slouch hat that looked as if it might have seen service behind the revolutionary barricades. Mange surveyed him with a long glance of admiration; then taking him to a neighboring street lamp, he critically examined his face, which was stained to represent the bronzing effect of the sun and smeared with dirt.
"Capital!" exclaimed the ex-detective, as he finished his scrutiny. "You are a zigue out and out! Not a trace of the boulevardier to be seen! The most keen-scented vache in the caboulot would be completely deceived!"
Albert smiled at his companion's enthusiasm.
"Well, as I pass examination," he said, "let us go on at once. Do you think our man will be at the caboulot?"
"Do I think water will run down hill!" cried Mange, with a laugh that resembled nothing so much as the discordant croak of a crow. "He nevermisses a night, and this is the hour when the brandy begins to flow!"
Albert shuddered at this remark, suggesting as it did the certainty that he would find Eugénie's father a sot as well as a thief. He, however, took Mange's arm and together they strolled leisurely into the Cité d' Antin, making their way to the caboulot without meeting a single suspicious prowler.
They entered the front room where Bouche-de-Miel had found the slatternly young woman reading her greasy copy of the Gazette des Tribunaux on the morning preceding the attempted robbery. She was at her accustomed place behind the counter, but was not reading; eight or ten stalwart ruffians monopolized her attention and, as she furnished her thirsty customers with the various fiery beverages they demanded, she showered her most captivating glances right and left among them. She was as slatternly as ever, but her hair was shining with bear's grease and a strong odor of musk pervaded her garments; a paste diamond of enormous size but of doubtful brilliancy ornamented her breastpin and on her stumpy, grimy fingers were numerous brass rings containing dull imitations of rubies, amethysts and topazes.
As the new comers came in, Waldmann, standing in front of the counter with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, was chaffing her.
"See here, Beurre-Sans-Sel," he said, with a well-counterfeited air of intense admiration, "you are looking like a real beauty to-night. I will wager anything you expect a lover. I never saw you put onsuch style before. I declare you far outshine the demoiselles of the public balls!"
"Oh! Monsieur Waldmann, how you talk!" returned the girl, with an affected simper and an unsuccessful attempt to blush.
Just then the German looked around and caught sight of Mange, who was looking his ugliest. The spirit of mischief was strong upon him and he instantly cried out:
"I knew it; I knew you were expecting a lover and here he is promptly on time! Come now own up, my little Beurre-Sans-Sel, did you not put on all your pretty fixings for Mange?"
"For that ugly old gorilla!" exclaimed the girl, unceremoniously and disdainfully. "I can get better-looking lovers than either a monkey or a Swab, I'd have you to know, Monsieur Waldmann!"
There was a general laugh at this sally, and none laughed louder than Mange, who had a taste for coarse jokes and sharp retorts.
"So!" said Waldmann, after the merriment had subsided. Then he perceived Mange's companion for the first time. He examined him closely and suspiciously. Albert did not shrink from his scrutiny, but the ex-detective deemed it prudent to set matters right at the start by a formal introduction of his employer; he, therefore, motioned to Albert to follow him and walked up to the German, offering him his hand, which the latter shook cordially.
The Captain now stood beside Waldmann in front of the counter and Mange presented him without delay.
"Monsieur Waldmann," said he, "permit me to make you acquainted with my friend Fouquier, from Dijon, a bon zigue."
"Monsieur Fouquier," said the German, taking Albert's outstretched hand, "I am glad to know you, especially as you come so well recommended."
Mange bowed in acknowledgment of this little tribute to himself.
Morcerf replied that the pleasure was mutual.
Waldmann's suspicions seemed to be allayed.
"Take something," he said. "Here, Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel, join us in drinking the health of Monsieur Fouquier from Dijon!"
Albert was instantly on the alert and Mange watched him attentively as the two individuals named emerged from a corner of the room and lounged up to the counter. There was another presentation, a double one this time, Waldmann doing the honors. Mange required no introduction. Everybody appeared to know him. Beurre-Sans-Sel put forth brandy and glasses, and the health of Monsieur Fouquier was drunk enthusiastically. When this ceremony ended Morcerf called for cigarettes and distributed them among the coterie; then he had leisure to examine Bouche-de-Miel; the latter had turned his back to the counter and leaned his elbows upon it; in this position, with his cigarette between his teeth, he looked the perfect picture of vagabondish idleness. Mange was still watching Morcerf, but saw no sign that he had recognized in Bouche-de-Miel the man for whom he was seeking. This made him uneasy, for it was an indication thatthe reward his employer had promised him would not be earned.
Presently Waldmann and Siebecker were called to another part of the room. Bouche-de-Miel remained, continuing to smoke his cigarette, with his elbows on the counter where he had placed them after the health-drinking. The Captain's thoughts were of a conflicting nature. Everything pointed to the fact that the man before him was his father-in-law, but, unlike Mlle. d' Armilly, he saw nothing in him suggestive of the Baron Danglars of other days. Could this vagabond, this wretch, be Danglars? If so, how was it to be proved to his satisfaction? How, above all, in this place, in this den of thieves and cutthroats? The man was certainly the party Eugénie had recognized on the night of the attempted burglary as her father, the party Monte-Cristo himself had so positively pronounced to be the former banker. But was it not probable that his wife and the Count had been mistaken? Was it not probable that they had been deceived by some fancied resemblance when excitement had possessed them to such a degree that it had deprived them of the full use of their mental faculties? At any rate he had come to the caboulot to experiment with Bouche-de-Miel and he would not shrink from cautiously applying the test.
Their cigarettes were now consumed. Albert, in pursuance of his scheme, invited Bouche-de-Miel and Mange to take seats at a table and have some more brandy. They accepted the invitation with alacrity, and the three were soon drinking and chatting.Repeated potations finally opened Bouche-de-Miel's lips; he began to be confidential.
"You may not believe me, messieurs," said he, "but I was not always as you see me now!"
Mange winked triumphantly at his employer. Revelations which might be important were coming. Perhaps he would yet earn the promised reward. Morcerf was listening attentively.
"No, sacré nom d' un chien, I was not always a zigue! Once I had immense wealth, I counted my money by millions! I had position, too, and I may say without egotism that I was honored by the best people of Paris!"
He paused and drained another glass of brandy.
"What were you?" asked Mange.
Albert waited breathlessly for the answer to this question.
"What was I?" repeated Bouche-de-Miel. "You may laugh, but I was a banker!"
Morcerf could not avoid giving a start. The vagabond, half-drunk as he was, noticed it and asked:
"What is the matter with you, Fouquier? Do you think the lie so tremendous that you can't keep still?"
The young man was glad to accept this interpretation of his behavior; he touched his glass to his lips and said, with a forced smile:
"Well, I do think you are going it rather strong!"
"Not half strong enough, mon Dieu!" cried Bouche-de-Miel, bringing his fist down on the table with such force that the glasses were nearly knocked off. "Nothalf strong enough, I tell you, messieurs, for I was a Baron as well as a banker!"
Albert groaned. Mange looked at him with sparkling eyes; he was now sure that the promised money was within his reach, that his clutch would soon close on it. His enforced sobriety since he had been in the Captain's employ made him anxious for a prolonged, reckless spree, frightfully anxious, and his guarded potations since he entered the caboulot had whetted his devouring appetite for alcohol to such an extent that he could scarcely keep it in subjection with the plentiful supply of brandy on the table, almost at his very lips.
Bouche-de-Miel did not hear Morcerf's groan; his misty eyes were fixed upon space, seemed to be peering into the depths and recesses of the distant past. The Captain judged that the time had come to draw the final, the crowning admission from his lips. He touched him lightly on the arm. The man turned and glanced at him inquiringly. Morcerf's heart beat wildly; it was with great difficulty that he kept his agitation under control. He hurriedly scanned the other occupants of the room—some were very drunk and stupid, others noisy and demonstrative, but all were too busy with their own concerns and pleasures to pay even the slightest attention to the little party at the table; Waldmann and Siebecker were asleep on opposite ends of a bench in a corner. Bouche-de-Miel had meanwhile relapsed into his misty reverie. Albert touched his arm again.
"Don't bother me!" said the man, impatiently,without removing his eyes from space. "Can't you let a fellow dream!"
"Baron Danglars!" whispered Morcerf in his ear.
"Eh? What?" cried Bouche-de-Miel, coming back to reality with a start, half-sobered by hearing this name.
"Baron Danglars," repeated the Captain, in a guarded undertone, "I know you!"
The man got upon his feet lumberingly and unsteadily; he clutched Albert's shoulder convulsively.
"You are an Agent de la Sureté!" he hissed. "You have come here to arrest me!"
The attention of some of the less intoxicated ruffians was being excited by Bouche-de-Miel's behavior, but their ears had failed to seize his words amid the prevailing din. Mange, with his usual keenness and quickness, saw that something must instantly be done to quiet Albert's companion or all the miscreants who could stir would be aroused and come thronging about them to throttle the supposed Agent de la Sureté. He, therefore, gave a loud laugh and said to Bouche-de-Miel:
"Don't be a fool, old man! Monsieur Fouquier belong to la rousse! That's a good joke! ha! ha! Why he is as much in danger of the violon as you are! ha! ha!"
He arose, still laughing, and, playfully taking Bouche-de-Miel by the collar, gently forced him back into his chair. As he did so, he glanced at Beurre-Sans-Sel. The slatternly young woman had her hand on the screw of the huge lamp suspended above the counter,by which alone the room was lighted, ready to turn it out and leave the whole place in darkness at the first alarm. She was evidently accustomed to police descents and knew how to act in such cases. Mange's words and merriment, however, reassured her and she withdrew her fingers from the screw.
But Bouche-de-Miel was not altogether satisfied. He sat uneasily in his chair, facing Morcerf and anxiously scanning his countenance.
"What did you mean by calling me Baron Danglars and saying that you knew me?" he asked, in a low, somewhat tremulous voice.
Instead of replying directly to this question, the young man said, slowly and in a half-whisper:
"I am Albert de Morcerf, the husband of your daughter Eugénie!"
"What!" exclaimed Bouche-de-Miel. "Eugénie married—and to you!"
"Yes," said the Captain, "Fate has again brought us together after a long and painful separation."
"I saw Eugénie in the house of the Count of Monte-Cristo, no matter how, no matter when. What was she doing there?"
"Monte-Cristo is married to my mother, Mercédès, and we are living with him."
"Living with him—Eugénie, my daughter, living beneath the roof of the man who ruined her father and made him what he is!"
Bouche-de-Miel grew absolutely livid with rage; he was entirely sobered now and all his evil instincts had full possession of him.
"I will never forgive her—or you!" he hissed.
"Listen to me," said Albert, with comparative calmness. "I have come here to-night at the risk of my life to offer you money, the means of rehabilitation. Be advised. Leave these miscreants with whom you are associated and become a man again!"
"I reject both your offer and advice!" said Bouche-de-Miel, excitedly. "They are insults, coming as they do from the stepson of Monte-Cristo, my relentless enemy! But I will have vengeance upon you for them and through you on Edmond Dantès! Ho, Waldmann Siebecker!"
The two Germans awoke, sprang from their bench and advanced towards the table.
Mange uttered a groan of despair. He could do nothing now to avert the impending danger.
Bouche-de-Miel had leaped to his feet and grappled with Albert de Morcerf. Waldmann and Siebecker, realizing that something was wrong and at once connecting the alleged Monsieur Fouquier with it, drew long, keen-bladed knives as they rushed forward.
All the thieves and marauders who were sober enough to stand were now on their feet, ready to hurl themselves upon the suspected man. Weapons flashed in every direction—daggers, knives and pistols. Loud oaths and abusive epithets were heard on all sides; it was a perfect pandemonium, a babel of evil sounds.
Amid all the confusion and danger Mange's self-possession did not desert him. Seeing that it was useless to attempt to pacify the surging pack ofdesperadoes, he determined upon a bold measure, one that would enable him to save Captain de Morcerf and, at the same time, keep up his reputation with the criminal frequenters of the caboulot, with whom he desired for reasons of his own to be on good terms. He ran to the counter, where Beurre-Sans-Sel already had her hand on the screw of the hanging lamp, waiting for events to decide what action she should take. He leaned over the counter and whispered to the girl:
"Beurre-Sans-Sel, I was deceived in Monsieur Fouquier. He imposed upon me. He told me he was from Dijon. He turns out to be a Parisian and an Agent de la Sureté. He has betrayed himself. More Agents are coming! They will be here in a moment! Put off the light!"
The girl did not hesitate a second; she gave the screw a quick twist and the caboulot was instantly as dark as a tomb.
Having executed this manœuvre, Mange sprang to Albert de Morcerf's side, striking Bouche-de-Miel a crushing blow in the face that caused him to lose his grip of the young man. Then, seizing his employer in his brawny arms, he lifted him as if he had been a child and ran with him to the front door; this he opened, leaping into the street with his burden.
"Now run for your life!" he exclaimed, depositing the young man on the sidewalk.
With this he started off at a tearing pace, closely followed by Morcerf. They did not pause until they had reached the Rue de Provence, where, in the blaze of the lights, amid the throngs of honest citizens, they were safe.