Twenty years ago the village of Courberode looked different from what it does to-day. It consisted of a few miserable fishermen's cabins. One hundred feet from the beach a path filled with thorns led far into the country. The thorns in the course of time had become impenetrable walls, and this gave rise to the name, "The Path of Thorns."
Just behind it stood an old tumble-down house. The basement of this house consisted of a smoky room furnished with one table, two chairs and a flickering oil lamp. A man was walking up and down the low apartment.
"I wonder whether he will come," he muttered to himself.
At this moment a slight noise was heard outside. A knock came at the door.
"Who's there?" asked the man roughly.
"Does a man named Malvernet live here?" came back in reply.
"Yes. Come right in."
Spero entered, his clothes dripping wet, and blue-black hair hanging over his forehead.
"My name is Malvernet," said the other sharply; "what do you wish?"
"Do you know me?" he asked in a firm tone.
"No, I was told to come here and await a man. I was to do as he said and ask no questions. So I came and await your orders."
"Then listen to me. My father is the Count of Monte-Cristo. I am rich, very rich, and I can reward every service rendered me in a princely manner."
A mocking laugh came from the man's lips.
"What do you mean by offering me money?" he gruffly asked. "I have not asked you for payment yet, and perhaps it will not be in cash. Tell me now what you want of me."
"Robbers entered my house last night and robbed me of the dearest jewel I possess—a young girl whom I love."
"What's her name?"
"Jane! You promised to obey my orders, and I only ask you to lead me to Jane."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I will kill you."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the man, "that is well said."
"Do you refuse to obey me?"
"I did not say that. You need me, while I can get along without you. The game is therefore unequal."
"You are right, and I beg you to forgive me."
"Well then, vicomte, what do you command?"
"Then you really wish to help me?"
"Follow me," said Benedetto (for he was the man), as he opened a door.
"Anywhere," cried Spero, "if I can only find Jane again."
"I will go on in advance, and follow me closely, for the night is pitch dark and we might lose each other."
Spero nodded, and they both walked out into the pouring rain. Oh, why was the Count of Monte-Cristo far away? Why had he spared the wretch, when the sea cast him up? Why had he prevented Bertuccio from crushing the head of the poisonous reptile?
For a time the criminal and his company walked on in silence.
Suddenly it appeared to Spero as if the end of the way had been reached, and, pausing, he asked:
"Where are we?"
"On the banks of the Seine; in a few minutes we will be at the place."
"My poor Jane," murmured Spero, "how terrible it is to look for you in this deserted quarter."
"Are you afraid?" asked Benedetto mockingly.
Spero did not answer the impudent question.
"Go on," he coldly said.
Benedetto turned into a narrow path. Suddenly he stopped short and said:
"Here we are!"
Spero looked about him! In front of him rose a tall, gloomy building, and it appeared to him as if rough singing were going on within.
"Is this really the house?" asked the vicomte, unconsciously shuddering.
"Yes."
"It looks like a low den, and who guarantees me that I am not being led into a trap?"
"Vicomte of Monte-Cristo," replied Benedetto, "if I desired to murder you I could have done so long ago."
"You are right."
Just then coarse laughter and the noise of a falling body came from the inside of the house.
"Let us go into the house," cried Spero excitedly. "God knows what may be going on there."
Benedetto shoved his arm under the vicomte's and opening the door said:
"You will find more here than will please you."
They both entered a dark corridor now, the door fell back in the lock and Spero asked:
"Where are we?"
"On the spot," mockingly said Benedetto.
At the same time Spero felt the arm of his companion slip from under his, and he was alone. The room in which he was had neither windows nor doors, and gritting his teeth the young man said:
"The wretch has ensnared me in a trap."
Something extraordinary happened now. The wall before him opened, and an open space came to view. The room lighted up, and Spero saw—Jane, but, merciful God, in what company!
She formed the centre of a wild orgy; glasses rang, coarse songs and oaths were heard from the lips of a crowd of shameless men and women who surrounded Jane, and uttering a loud cry Spero buried his face in his hands.
As we have stated, Gontram had given a note to Coucou to deliver to Carmen. When the Jackal reached the palace in the Rue Rivoli he stopped in amazement. The doors were wide open and the whole front of the house swam in light.
The Zouave entered a restaurant opposite, ordered a bottle of wine, and began a conversation with the waiter.
"What is going on to-day in the Larsagny palace?" he asked.
"Oh, the banker is giving a great ball," said the waiter.
"He is very rich, I suppose."
"Enormously so."
At this moment a soldier entered the restaurant and, approaching the waiter, asked:
"Can you not tell me, good friend, where Monsieur de Larsagny lives?"
"About a hundred feet away in that brilliantly illuminated house—you cannot miss it."
"Thanks," said the soldier. As he was about to turn away, a well-known voice cried to him:
"Well, Galoret, what do the dear Bedouins do now?"
"Hello, Coucou—where do you hail from?" cried the soldier, joyously.
"Rather tell me where you come from?"
"Ah, I have been only three days in Paris."
"What business have you in the Larsagny palace?" he asked.
"Oh, I must deliver a letter."
"So must I; from whom, if I may ask?"
"Oh, it is no secret. I have a Bedouin prince for a friend who accompanied me to Paris. About two hours ago my pasha fell down the stairs of his hotel and broke his right leg. The doctor says that it will take six weeks for the leg to be cured. As he was invited to a ball at the Larsagny palace to-night—"
"Does he know the banker?" interrupted Coucou.
"No—Mohammed Ben Omar is in Paris for the first time. As the pasha is unable to attend the ball, I have to bring his letter of excuse, and now I must really go on my way."
Coucou pretended not to hear these last words. He gazed at a group of men who sat at a side table, and whispered to Galoret:
"Look at those fools. How they stare at you. One would think they had never seen a Chasseur d'Afrique."
"Impertinent scoundrels," growled Galoret, and, turning to the gentlemen, he cried in an angry tone of voice:
"You boobies, have you looked at my uniform long enough?"
The gentlemen answered in not very polite tones. Galoret couldn't stand this. One word led to another, and finally chairs were taken up to settle the discussion.
Policemen now interfered. Galoret and two others with bloody heads were locked up, and then only did the chasseur remember his errand.
Coucou was waiting for this moment. He introduced himself to the policemen and offered to carry the letter himself. The policemen offered no opposition, Galoret thanked him, and Coucou satisfied his conscience with the maxim of Loyola, that "the end justifies the means."
"Now I can enter the Larsagny palace," he said to himself; "as the pasha they will admit me."
Coucou jumped into a carriage and told the coachman to drive to the Rue de Pelletier.
A quarter of an hour later a Bedouin clad all in white, whose brown complexion and coal-black eyes betrayed his Oriental origin, left the store of an elegant place in the Rue de Pelletier and, stepping into the coach which stood at the door, he cried to the coachman:
"Rue de Rivoli, Palais Larsagny!"
The horses started off, the carriage rolled along, and the Bedouin, in whose turban a ruby glittered, muttered to himself:
"One can get through the world with cheek!"
If Carmen had not hoped to serve Gontram and his friends she would have left the Larsagny palace at once, but under existing circumstances prudence prompted her to stay and not to repulse the banker entirely; for she suspected that Larsagny held in his hand the threads of the mystery which threatened the Vicomte of Monte-Cristo. Carmen did not have much time to think, for hardly an hour after Gontram had gone, the banker appeared in the boudoir, and looking with astonishment at her, he said:
"What does this mean, Carmen? Our guests will soon be here, and you are not yet dressed."
"Our guests?" repeated Carmen, in amazement.
"Yes. Have you forgotten that the ball for which you yourself sent out invitations ten days ago, takes place to-night?"
"Really, I had forgotten all about it," stammered Carmen. "It is all the same, though; I have a headache and shall remain in my room."
"But, Carmen, what shall we do if you do not appear?"
"That is not my affair," replied Carmen, laconically.
The banker ran his hands through his hair in despair.
"Carmen, be reasonable," he implored, as he tried to take her hand.
"Don't touch me," said Carmen.
Larsagny bit his lips.
"What have I done to you?" he groaned. "Think of the shame if the ladies appear and find out that my daughter has retired to her room."
Carmen became pensive. Perhaps it might be better if she took part in the ball; she might hear something of interest to Gontram.
"Well, if you desire it, I will appear, but under one condition," she said, coldly.
"Name it."
"I demand that you shall not present me to any one as your daughter."
"But what shall I say?"
"Anything else. And now go, I must make my toilet."
"Carmen, I have one more favor to ask of you."
"Well?"
"I must leave the house about twelve o'clock for one or more hours—"
"He lies," thought Carmen to herself.
"To do this," continued Larsagny, "I must pretend some sudden sickness. You will have me brought to my room, and then—"
"Since when are the bankers and the money-brokers at night in their offices?" asked Carmen.
"But—"
"Do you mean to tell me that you have business on the Bourse at midnight?"
"Carmen, I swear to you that—"
"If you imagine that you can make me your accomplice in some crime that you are planning, you are mistaken. I will be the first one to deliver you over to the law."
Larsagny trembled, but he tried to smile, and with a hastyau revoirhe went away.
Carmen hastily dressed herself; she didn't pay much attention to her toilet, and went down to the parlors, where a number of guests were already assembled.
* * * * *
The greatest names of the empire had been announced by the lackeys.
Suddenly a murmur ran through the assembly. "Mohammed Ben Omar," the lackey had called, and all crowded about the reception-room to see the pasha.
With genuine Oriental grandeur the pasha slowly walked toward the host. Larsagny bowed deeply; the Bedouin answered the greeting by placing his right hand over his heart. That ended the conversation for the present, for Mohammed made a sign that he did not understand a word of French. Only when he saw a remarkably handsome woman he would say:
"Pretty woman."
Carmen had been distinguished in this way, and Larsagny, who felt flattered by it, tried to make the pasha comprehend that she was his daughter.
"Ah, pretty, pretty," repeated the Mussulman, and the banker, his face lighted up with joy, said:
"May I introduce her?"
Mohammed nodded.
Carmen bowed politely when the introduction wasmade, and said nothing. Omar offered her his arm, and murmured as he pointed to some pictures.
"Allah il Allah. I come from the painter Gontram. Mohammed resoul il Allah."
"The pasha evidently wishes you to show him the picture-gallery," said Larsagny.
"Then come," said the young girl to the Oriental.
As soon as Omar was alone with his companion, he whispered:
"Pardon me, I have to speak to you."
"Who are you?" asked Carmen.
"A friend, a former Zouave in the service of the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"Well, what have you?"
"A note from the painter Gontram."
"Give it to me—quickly."
Coucou drew the letter from the folds of his bernouse and gave it to the young girl. It read as follows:
"Carmen, my friends are in danger; Jane Zild has been abducted and Spero has disappeared. If every sign does not deceive, the banker must know something about it. Perhaps you may be able to find out the secret."In great haste,"G. S."
"Carmen, my friends are in danger; Jane Zild has been abducted and Spero has disappeared. If every sign does not deceive, the banker must know something about it. Perhaps you may be able to find out the secret.
"In great haste,"G. S."
Carmen breathed more freely after she had read the lines.
"Well?" said the Zouave, expectantly.
"Go back to Monsieur Sabran and tell him I will move heaven and earth to find out the secret. Gontram is still in the Monte-Cristo palace, is he not?"
"Yes."
"If I have occasion to go there will I be admitted?"
"Yes."
At this moment a servant rushed into the parlor and exclaimed:
"Mademoiselle, Monsieur de Larsagny has suddenly become ill."
"I shall come soon," said Carmen, coldly, and nodding to Coucou, she went away.
In the banker's room great confusion reigned. The master of the house lay motionless, with closed eyes, on a divan. A physician who happened to be present, suggested opening a vein, and Carmen stood at the bedside, not knowing what to do.
At length she consented, and while the operation was being performed, Carmen searched all of Monsieur de Larsagny's pockets. She soon discovered a letter, and hurried with it to her room. The note read as follows:
"Our revenge is assured. Fanfaro, Gontram, and a former clown determined to discover the vic.'s whereabout, and thanks to their curiosity they have fallen into a trap in the M. C. palace. The little one is in the house in Courb., and the son of the man against whom we have sworn eternal hate will come too late."C."
"Our revenge is assured. Fanfaro, Gontram, and a former clown determined to discover the vic.'s whereabout, and thanks to their curiosity they have fallen into a trap in the M. C. palace. The little one is in the house in Courb., and the son of the man against whom we have sworn eternal hate will come too late.
"C."
Carmen at once understood the meaning of these lines. She knew the house in Courbevoie spoken about, and throwing a long black cloak over her shoulders she left the palace by the rear door.
We left Spero at the moment when the walls of the room he was in opened and presented the horrible spectacle which met his eyes. In what way had the poor child got in such company? Benedetto, of course, had done this dastardly act. He had drugged her after he had abducted her from Monte-Cristo's house, and the poor girl was unable to give utterance to a cry. She saw everything that went on about her, but was unable to say a word. And Spero had to gaze at these terrible scenes; he could not keep his eyes away. He tried in vain to find a means of entering the hall. The whole scene had been arranged by Benedetto and Larsagny in a satanic spirit. Larsagny owned the house in Courbevoie, and had often presided at its bacchanalian revels. Carmen had not called him a master of immorality for nothing. While Spero was beating the iron railing in despair, the light suddenly went out and all was still. The vicomte strained his eyes to see what was going on in the hall, and not seeing anything, waited in the agony of fear for what was coming.
In about ten minutes it became light again in the hall, and now the young man saw Jane again, but this time she was alone.
Spero breathed more freely, and, beside himself, he called:
"Jane! Jane! come to me!"
At the rear of the hall a door opened, and Spero recognized in a man who crossed the threshold—Monsieur de Larsagny.
Larsagny drew near to Jane, and, sinking upon his knees, he pressed his lips to the young girl's hand. Spero breathlessly followed Larsagny's movements, and when he saw that Jane made no resistance, he became violent. With all his strength, he threw himself against the iron railing; it gave way, and with a cry Spero rushed upon Monsieur de Larsagny. In a second the banker lay on the floor. Throwing his arms about Jane, Spero cried:
"Jane, my darling, do you not know me? I am—Monte-Cristo."
"Monte-Cristo!" cried Larsagny, in terror, and with a gasp he fell back dead—a stroke of apoplexy had put an end to his life.
Spero did not know that he was the living picture of his father. Edmond Dantes had just looked like that when he was arrested at Marseilles through the intrigues of Danglars, Fernand and Villefort, and Danglars-Larsagny had thought it was Monte-Cristo who stood before him.
Jane still lay motionless in Spero's arms. The vicomte called despairingly for help, but none came.
Suddenly it occurred to him that Jane's condition was due to some narcotic, and with a cry of joy he pulled a small crystal vial from his breast pocket. It contained a liquid the Abbé Faria had taught Edmond Dantes how to make. Putting the vial to Jane's lips, he poured a few drops down her throat.
The effect was instantaneous. Jane uttered a deep sigh, and looked at the young man with returning consciousness.
"Spero!" she cried. "You here in this terrible place? Oh, go—go away; you must not stay here."
"Jane, I have come to take you with me."
"No!—oh, no! I am accursed! I must not accompany you!" sobbed the young girl.
"What nonsense, child. You have been abducted from my house and brought here against your will. Come with me; I will bring you away, or else die with you!"
"Not for any price," groaned Jane. "Go—leave this place, and let me die! I cannot live any longer—the shame kills me."
"Jane, do not speak so. Jane, my Jane, do you really refuse to accompany me?"
"God forgive me if I do wrong; I cannot leave you," she murmured, as she threw herself into the young man's arms.
But at this moment the coarse songs sounded again, and a man entered the hall. It was Benedetto!
Coucou had not taken time to change his clothes when he presented himself to Madame Caraman on his return home, and the worthy woman uttered a cry of astonishment.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "I think that we have more serious things to think of than masquerading."
"Come, do not speak before you know everything," replied the Zouave; and in a few words he told her the story of his disguise.
"Where can Monsieur Sabran be?" asked Madame Caraman.
"What!" exclaimed Coucou, "where is he then?"
"I haven't seen him, nor Fanfaro, nor Bobichel since."
"Impossible! Are they still in Jane's room?"
"Perhaps."
"I cannot understand it, and—"
A hollow noise caused Coucou to keep silent. He and Madame Caraman looked at each other in terror.
"What can that be?" asked Madame Caraman.
Before Coucou could answer the question, the noise was repeated.
"The noise comes from the right side," said Coucou,who had been listening; "let us hurry to Gontram and Fanfaro, and call their attention to it."
Mamma Caraman nodded, and they both went to Jane's room.
It was empty!
"This is getting worse and worse," cried Coucou, anxiously. "Do you know what I think? This room has a secret exit, and through it Jane, the vicomte, and Gontram and his comrades have disappeared."
"What are you going to do?"
"Break down the house if necessary," said Coucou, beginning to trample upon the floor.
"But you are ruining the carpet!" cried Mamma Caraman.
The sound of the door-bell at this minute prevented Coucou from replying. In front of the door stood Carmen.
"Thank Heaven you have come, mademoiselle."
"You haven't found Gontram yet?"
"No."
"Monsieur Gontram and his comrades are in subterranean chambers in this house."
"Knock at the walls, Coucou," said Madame Caraman, "and then we can wait for an answer."
Coucou knocked three times with a hammer against the wall. At the end of the second knock came back in answer twenty-five.
"What does that mean?" asked Coucou, in affright.
"I know," cried Carmen; "twenty-five knocks signify the letters of the alphabet!"
"Then we must answer to show that we understand the language," said Madame Caraman. "Coucou—quick—twenty-five knocks."
The Zouave did as he was told, and the answer came back in one knock which meant "yes."
Nine further knocks followed.
"I," said Carmen.
Nineteen knocks.
"S," whispered Carmen.
Seven knocks.
"G."
Ten knocks.
"J."
Two knocks.
"B."
Twenty knocks.
"T."
Carmen now read the meaning of this:
"There is an iron door under the wall decoration."
Coucou soon found the secret door.
At the end of five minutes Fanfaro, Bobichel and Gontram were again with their friends. In a few words Carmen related what had brought her there, and showed the letter she had taken from Larsagny.
"In Courbevoie!" cried Gontram. "How shall we find Spero there?"
"I know the house," said Carmen; "it belongs to the banker, and I believe we shall find the vicomte there."
"May God grant it."
Ten minutes later they were all on the road to Courbevoie.
When Benedetto entered the hall he was neither Malvernet, Cavalcanti or Fagiano. He was simply Benedetto.
"Whoever you are," cried the vicomte, "I implore you to help me bring this poor child out of here."
"Vicomte," replied Benedetto, coldly, "I will not help you, and you'll not bring this woman away from here."
"I will shoot you down like a dog," said Spero, contemptuously.
With these words he pulled out a pistol and held it toward Benedetto.
"You wish to commit murder, vicomte!"
"Do not speak of murder, wretch? You robbed me of my freedom, and this poor child, whose innocence ought to be sacred to you, you—"
"The poor innocent child," interrupted the ex-convict. "You told me it was brought here against its will!"
"Scoundrel, you lie!" cried Spero, angrily.
Benedetto laughed coarsely.
"Jane Zild," he then said, drawing back a step, "tell the Vicomte of Monte-Cristo that you are worthy of him. Don't you remember who your mother was, what your mother was, and where she died?"
"Mercy," cried Jane, throwing herself at Benedetto's feet. "Mercy!"
"Jane Zild, shall I tell the vicomte who your father was?"
"My father?" stammered Jane, confused.
"Yes, your father. Do you not remember a man who took care of you after your mother died? The man was formerly a galley-slave named Anselmo. Before that he wore the dress of a priest. Jane Zild is the daughter of the convict of Toulon and the woman of Lyons."
"Miserable scoundrel," cried Spero, "you lie! If you have weapons, let us fight. Only one of us dare leave this room alive."
"Just my idea," said Benedetto, as he took two swords from under his cloak. "Choose, and nowvogue ma galere."
"The motto is no doubt derived from your past," said Spero.
"You shall pay for that, boy," hissed Benedetto as he placed himself in position.
A hot struggle ensued, and Benedetto was finally driven against the wall.
"Wretch!" exclaimed Spero, "your life is in my hands; beg for mercy, or I shall stab you through the heart."
"I beg for mercy? Fool, you do not know what you are speaking of! I hate you—I hate your father—take my life, or, as true as I stand here, I shall take yours!"
"Then die," replied Spero, and with a quick movement he knocked Benedetto's sword out of his hand and made a lunge at him!
But the lunge did not reach Benedetto's heart, but that of the young girl! At the same moment a shot rang through the hall, and Jane and Spero sank lifeless to the floor.
How had this horrible thing happened?
At the moment Benedetto saw Spero's sword turned toward his heart, he seized the pistol the vicomte had carelessly laid aside, and fired at his opponent. Jane saw the wretch seize the pistol. She threw herself into Spero's arms to save her lover, and received the death-blow from his hand!
* * * * *
The moment Spero breathed his last, loud cries were heard throughout the house, and many voices called Spero's name.
Benedetto grew pale. How could he save himself? Only one way was left to him, and he hesitated to carry it out.
Hasty steps were now heard coming along the corridor. Tearing the window open, Benedetto swung himself on the sill. He looked into the dark waters of the Seine, and firmly muttered: "Forward! Down there is hope; here, death!"
Fanfaro, Gontram, Carmen, Bobichel and Coucou now hurried into the hall. Benedetto looked at them with flaming eye, and mockingly cried:
"You are too late! I have killed Monte-Cristo's son!"
The next minute he had disappeared, and, while the waves rushed over him, Fanfaro and Gontram rushed toward Spero's body, and Fanfaro sobbingly exclaimed:
"Too late! Too late! Oh, poor, poor father!"
Just as Benedetto had uttered the mocking words to the friends of Spero, the form of a man appeared in the doorway. He threw one horror-stricken look at the bodies, a second one at the ex-convict, swung himself also on the window-sill, and plunged in after Benedetto. It was Anselmo.
The water was ice-cold, but neither of them paid any attention to it. Benedetto only thought of saving himself, and Anselmo of his revenge. Benedetto did not know he was being pursued. Who would risk his own life to follow him? No, it was madness to imagine so. But now he heard some one swimming behind him. If he could reach the bushes of Nemilly he would be safe. He did not dare turn about—he felt frightened and his teeth chattered.
At length the long-looked-for bank was seen—a few more strokes and he would be saved. Now—now he pressed upon the sand. Dripping, trembling with cold, he swung himself upon dry land and looked back at the dark waters. He could see nothing: his pursuer had evidently given up the project.
Anselmo had really lost courage. He had the greatestdifficulty to keep himself afloat. Suddenly his almost paralyzed hand grasped a plank; he clambered on it, and reached the shore with its aid. He landed about one hundred feet away from Benedetto. Now he saw the hated wretch. But was it a vision, a play of his excited fancy? It seemed to him as if Benedetto were hurrying toward the water again! Behind him moved a white shadow; it seemed to be pursuing the scoundrel, and they were both flying toward the shore.
Benedetto did not turn around. Did he fear to see the white form? Both came toward Anselmo. Benedetto looked neither to the right nor to the left. Now his foot touched the water. Then came a soft, trembling voice on the still night air:
"Benedetto—my son! Benedetto—wait for me!"
With a cry of terror, Benedetto turned around. There stood his mother whom he had murdered. She pressed her hand to the breast her son's steel had penetrated. Now she stretched out her long, bony fingers toward him—she threw her lean arm around his neck, and he could not cry out. Slowly they both walked toward the river. They set foot on the dark space—they sank deeper and deeper, and now—now the waves rushed over them! Outraged nature was done penance to. The mother, whom Benedetto had stabbed in the breast, had drawn her son with her into a watery grave.
* * * * *
The next morning fishermen found the body of an unknown man in the bushes—it was Anselmo. He had breathed his last as the sun just began to rise—his last word was:
"Jane!"
Deep silence reigned in the Monte-Cristo palace—the silence of death. Everything was draped in mourning, and on a catafalque rested the bodies of Spero and Jane.
They were all dead—Danglars, Villefort, Mondego, Caderousse and Benedetto—but Monte-Cristo was alive to close the eyes of his dearly beloved son.
Mockery of fate! The two men who watched the corpses waited with anxiety for the moment when the Count of Monte-Cristo should enter.
Before the vision of the older man rose the atrocious scenes at Uargla. He saw Spero, a bold, brave boy, scaling the towers—he heard his firm words, "Papa, let us die"—and felt the soft, childish arms wind about his neck. This was Fanfaro.
The other watcher was Gontram. Coucou, Bobichel and Madame Caraman were paralyzed with grief. The Zouave would willingly have died a thousand deaths if he only could have saved the life of his young master.
The third day dawned, and Gontram and Fanfaro looked anxiously at each other. To-day the count must come.
Toward evening the door was suddenly opened.Slowly, with a heavy tread, a tall man approached the catafalque, and, sinking on his knees beside it, hid his pale face in the folds of the burial cloth. The count looked neither to the right nor to the left; he saw only his son. Not a sound issued from his troubled breast; but with a cold shiver Fanfaro and Gontram noticed that the count's black hair was slowly becoming snow-white, and with profound pity the friends gazed upon the grief-stricken man, who had become old in an hour.
Monte-Cristo now bent over his son and clasped the dear corpse in his powerful arms. He went slowly and noiselessly to the door. Fanfaro and Gontram stood as if in a daze; and not until the door had closed behind the count did they recover their self-possession. They hurried after him, they tried to follow his track; but it was useless. The count had disappeared together with his son's body.
Fifty years ago a solitary man stood on a lonely rock.
The night was horrible! The storm drove the snow and rain into the face of the solitary man and whipped the black hair around his temples; but he paid no attention to this—he dug into the hard, rocky soil with pickaxe and spade.
Suddenly he uttered an ejaculation of joy. The brittle rock had revealed its secret to him. Unexpected treasures, incalculable fortunes, lay before his eager gaze.
Then the man stood erect; he glanced wildly around him toward all the four quarters of the globe, and cried aloud:
"All you, who have kept me imprisoned for fourteen long years in a subterranean vault into which neither sun nor moon could penetrate, who would have condemned my body to eternal decline, and enshrouded my mind with the night of insanity—you whose names I do not yet know, beware! I swear to be revenged—revenged! Edmond Dantes has risen from his grave, he has risen to chastise his torturers, and as sure as there is a God in heaven you shall learn to know me."
About whom was this solitary man speaking? He did not yet know, but he was soon to discover it.
Fourteen years before, Edmond Dantes, the young sailor, was joyously returning to the harbor of Marseilles on board the Pharaon, belonging to Monsieur Morrel. His captain had died on the trip and he was promised the vacant place. As soon as he had landed he hastened to his bride, the Catalan Mercedes, to announce to her that he could now lead her to the altar.
Then he was suddenly arrested. He was accused of transmitting letters to the Emperor Napoleon, then a prisoner on the Island of Elba.
He did not deny the fact. It was his captain's dying wish. He was ignorant of the contents of the missive, and of the one he had in his possession given him by the captive emperor to deliver to a Monsieur Noirtier in Paris.
Monsieur Noirtier's full name was Noirtier de Villefort, and his son Monsieur de Villefort was the deputy procureur du roi to whom Edmond Dantes handed the letter to prove his innocence.
The son suppressed the letter, in order not to be compromised by the acts of his father, and had the young man torn from the arms of his betrothed and incarcerated in the subterranean dungeon of the Chateau d'If.
Here he remained fourteen long years, his only companion the Abbé Faria, who was deemed to be insane. The abbé on his deathbed intrusted to him the secret that an enormous fortune was concealed in a grotto on the island of Monte-Cristo in the Mediterranean Sea. Edmond Dantes escaped from his dungeon and discovered the buried treasure.
He then left the island to accomplish the revenge he had sworn.
He found that his father had died of starvation and that Mercedes had married another. Who was this other one?
Fernand Mondego, now the Count de Morcerf, had become the husband of the beautiful Catalan. Formerly a simple fisherman, he had risen to become a member of the French Chamber of Deputies.
The second in whose way Edmond Dantes had stood was a man named Danglars. An officer on board the Pharaon, he had hoped to obtain the position of captain. Now he had become one of the principal bankers of the capital.
The third, Caderousse, an envious tailor, had allowed himself to be made a tool of to bring to the notice of the authorities the denunciation against the young sailor which Danglars had dictated and Mondego written down.
His worst enemy was Villefort, who had now become the procureur du roi at Paris.
Was Edmond Dantes to be blamed if he, after he had discovered all this, took the law in his own hands and began to execute his vengeance?
Danglars was his first victim. He ruined him and made him suffer the pangs of hunger which Edmond's father had suffered.
Fernand Mondego, Count de Morcerf, was the second. At first Dantes, who now called himself the Count of Monte-Cristo, wanted to kill Fernand's son, Albert de Morcerf, but he spared the young man for Mercedes' sake.
He looked up Mondego's past history. The latter hadrisen to power through crime and treachery. He had betrayed Ali Tebelen, Pasha of Yanina, and sold the latter's wife Vassiliki and daughter Haydee into slavery. Haydee herself denounced De Morcerf's infamy in the Chamber of Deputies. De Morcerf, forever dishonored, and knowing the blow came from Monte-Cristo, sought to pick a quarrel with the latter. But the count, glancing him full in the face, said:
"Look at me well, Fernand, and you will understand it all. I am Edmond Dantes."
Then De Morcerf fled, and an hour afterward blew out his brains.
De Villefort's turn was next. Monte-Cristo discovered that he had buried alive a child of Madame Danglars and himself. Bertuccio the Corsican had saved the child and reared it to manhood. The boy had become the bandit Benedetto.
Monte-Cristo found him in the galleys at Toulon. He aided in his escape, and Benedetto assassinated Caderousse. Tried for this murder, Benedetto found himself confronted with his father, the procureur du roi. He boldly announced his relationship, and de Villefort fled from the courtroom only to find on reaching home that his wife had poisoned herself and her son. In that moment of agony Monte-Cristo appeared before him and told him that he was Edmond Dantes. The blow struck home. De Villefort went mad.
His work of vengeance was now accomplished. Monte-Cristo was rich and all-powerful. He married Haydee, and they had a son, Spero. Now, alas! Haydee was dead! Spero was dead!
* * * * *
It was ten years since Monte-Cristo, on that fearful night, bore off the corpse of his only son.
Again he stood alone on the rock on the island of Monte-Cristo. He had lived on this rock for ten years. He saw no one, heard no one, except when occasionally men came ashore for water. Then he concealed himself, watching them and hearing their gay laughter.
But the rumor that the island was haunted spread around, and the superstitious Italians claimed that it was inhabited by a spirit whom they called the Abbé of Monte-Cristo.
All these years Monte-Cristo had lived on herbs and roots. He had sworn never to touch money again while he lived.
One night Monte-Cristo entered the subterranean cave where the marble sarcophagus of his son was:
"Spero," he earnestly said, "is it time?"
A long silence ensued. Then—was it a reality?—Spero's lips appeared to move and utter the word:
"Come."
"I thought so," muttered the Count. "I shall come, my child, as soon as my affairs are settled."
He took a package from his pocket, and unfolding it read it aloud:
"My Last Will and Testament"The person who signed this paper, and who is about to die, has been more powerful than the greatest ruler on earth. He has loved and hated strongly. All is forgotten, all is dead to him except the souvenir of the son who was dear to him. This man possessed millions, but dies of hunger. He desired to domineer over every one,made a judge of himself and rewarded the just and punished the guilty. He has no heir, but he thinks it would be wrong for him to destroy the wealth he possesses. It is in existence, though hid away. He bequeaths it to Providence. It will bear this paper together with these mysterious signs."Will the money be found?"Whoever reads this paper will do a wise act if he annihilates it. May he who finds this paper listen and heed to the words of a dying man."The Abbé Dantes.""February 25th, 1865."
"My Last Will and Testament
"The person who signed this paper, and who is about to die, has been more powerful than the greatest ruler on earth. He has loved and hated strongly. All is forgotten, all is dead to him except the souvenir of the son who was dear to him. This man possessed millions, but dies of hunger. He desired to domineer over every one,made a judge of himself and rewarded the just and punished the guilty. He has no heir, but he thinks it would be wrong for him to destroy the wealth he possesses. It is in existence, though hid away. He bequeaths it to Providence. It will bear this paper together with these mysterious signs.
"Will the money be found?
"Whoever reads this paper will do a wise act if he annihilates it. May he who finds this paper listen and heed to the words of a dying man.
"The Abbé Dantes."
"February 25th, 1865."
Below this signature was a curious design. Monte-Cristo examined it.
"Ah, Faria!" he exclaimed, "may your money fall into better hands than mine!"
He felt singularly feeble and laid his hand on his heart. He entered the tomb of Spero and reclined beside him. His arms were crossed on his breast. His eyes shut. He was dead.
* * * * *
All those who ever knew him never speak of him or hear his name uttered without being deeply affected. One thing has remained a secret for them up to this day. Where did Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte-Cristo, perish?
THE END