No sooner had the sentence been pronounced than the man who had accompanied Madame Danglars glided toward the bar where Benedetto stood, and whispered something in his ear.
"We have kept our word, have we not?"
"Yes; but the galleys?"
"We have saved your head. More we cannot do at present. Have patience."
The court officials coming up to take the prisoner interrupted the conversation. Benedetto was placed in a coach and driven to Bicetre. He was placed in a filthy jail, and then left to himself. He had not been long there when he felt a hand touch him and a voice whisper close to his ear.
"You are in luck, comrade," said the unknown. "Some rich lady is interested in you. You don't remember me, perhaps. 'Twas I who brought you that note two months ago. I got two gold pieces for doing so."
"Who was the lady, and how did you get here?"
"I don't know who she is, but she appears to be over forty. As for me, I am a priest, and committed wrong—"
At this moment the door was opened, and a voice called:
"Benedetto! Benedetto!"
Benedetto arose, and peering through the grated cell-door saw a woman.
"What do you want?" he gruffly asked.
"I am your mother."
"My mother?"
"Yes."
"I have one favor to ask of you."
"I am willing to do anything for you."
"Are you going to stay in Paris?"
"No, I shall leave France on the 26th of February."
"And you sail from Marseilles?"
"Yes."
"Then you will be near Toulon. I know that you do not wish me to see your face or learn your secret. But if you have any love for me, come and see me there."
The poor woman yearned to embrace her son, whose hypocritical words awoke the dormant love in her bosom.
"I promise to see you before I sail on the 26th."
"Come to Toulon, then, on the 24th. And, by the way, here is a letter from one of my comrades to whomI am under deep obligations. On your way home drop it into the letter-box."
She could not decline to do him this service. Her usual caution deserted her, and as she slipped the note in her bosom the light fell full on her face.
Benedetto recognized her at once as Madame Danglars, the wife of Baron Danglars, and the mother of the girl he was to have married. He could hardly restrain a cry of rage and astonishment.
"Good-by," he said. "Do not forget the 24th."
"Well, my dear Chateau-Renaud, is there anything new?" asked Beauchamp of his friend, who had paid him a visit to his office.
"Bah—not much! It's the same old story in the Orient, and outside of that place nothing ever happens in the world."
"Nothing? What will you give me if I tell you something which will interest you, my dear Chateau-Renaud?"
"That depends. Who is the party?"
"Our friend, Albert de Morcerf."
"That is worth listening to: how is the poor fellow getting along?"
"Oh, splendidly! He distinguishes himself in every battle, and will one day become a famous general."
"I hope so. Do you still recollect the hard times poor Morcerf had when the first article from Yanina appeared in your paper?"
"I do. I went myself on the strength of it to Yanina, and the news I brought from there was perfectly crushing from our old friend."
"And Count Monte-Cristo has disappeared?"
"For the present, yes. Though I am sure that sooner or later he will show up again."
At this moment a loud uproar was heard near the door, and as Beauchamp opened it, a young man was seen who was struggling with the office boy to gain admission.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Beauchamp, in a tone of surprise, as he opened the door.
"Ah, Beauchamp!" exclaimed the stranger, "I knew you would admit me."
"At present I have not the honor of your acquaintance," replied Beauchamp, bowing.
"Permit me to refresh your memory; I am the man who called you into the court-room during the Benedetto trial. You were at the refreshment counter, and—"
"Ah, now I remember," said Beauchamp, in a friendly tone. "What can I do for you?"
"Pardon me, Monsieur Beauchamp, but I think I can do you a service."
"Then come into my office, Monsieur—what is your name now?"
"Gratillet, Monsieur Beauchamp," said the young man, following him into the office. After he had taken a chair proffered him he laughed to himself and in a tone of importance said:
"If I am not mistaken, you interest yourself for Benedetto?"
"A little, Monsieur Gratillet."
"When you have heard my report, you will do so more. I took good notice of Benedetto and have come to the conclusion that he has been picked out to do great things!"
"Really? Is he going to become a minister, or perhaps a king?"
"Laugh away; he will not die in the galleys."
"Then, perhaps, on the gallows; that is sometimes the end of a career like his."
"No, Benedetto is more ambitious than that. I will only give you the facts and tell you what I heard yesterday. Last night Benedetto received a visit in prison."
"A visit?"
"Just as I tell you. A veiled lady visited him and remained an hour with him. Her face I could not recognize."
"Have you got wings with which to pursue Benedetto?"
"No, Monsieur Beauchamp. At the end of the proceedings I took a carriage and arrived at the prison only a quarter of an hour after Benedetto."
"I call that promptness. You saw the lady then?"
"Yes; I did not recognize her perfectly, but imagine she is the wife of a banker who left for parts unknown about three months ago."
Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud looked knowingly at one another, while Gratillet continued:
"The lady in question left the prison at ten o'clock and got into her carriage."
"A carriage?"
"No, a hackney coach she had hired."
"And you followed her again?"
"This time the matter was much easier; I got upon the box with the driver and arrived at her destination as soon as the occupant herself. The carriage drove toNo. 8 Rue Contrescarpe. I looked closely at the house and read a sign near the door with the following card: 'Monsieur Magloire, taxidermist.' The lady got out and rang the bell, but to no purpose. Becoming bolder she knocked at the door. A sliding window was opened and a gruff voice asked:
"'Well, what do you want?'
"'I have a letter to deliver,' said the lady softly.
"'From whom?'
"I could not make out what she said. A hand was put through the opening and took the letter, whereupon the sliding window was again closed. The lady waited a while longer and then rode off."
"Did you follow her?"
"Oh, no, why should I have done that? I am interested in Benedetto, and the lady is only a side character. First of all, Monsieur Beauchamp, do you think the story suitable for your paper?"
"Hm! that could be talked over. In the meantime take a cigar."
"Thanks. Have you ever seen the departure of the galley-slaves from Bicetre?"
"No, but I imagine it must be a curious sight."
"It is. This morning I was in Bicetre to see Benedetto depart, and I must confess I almost pitied him. The handsome Andrea Cavalcanti was undressed and his clothes cut in the usual way."
"Why do they do that?" asked Chateau-Renaud.
"To prevent the flight of a convict. Whoever sees these cut clothes knows they belong to a galley-slave. The other prisoners said nothing while the operation was being performed; Benedetto, however, cried out aloudwhen the jailer cut his elegant coat, and when the rattle of the chains was heard in another room he gritted his teeth and cast such a look around him that I instinctively shuddered."
"Were you present during the chaining of the convicts, Monsieur Gratillet?"
"Certainly; I never do things by halves. The prisoners were brought into the courtyard and placed in rows of two each, who were tied to each other by a chain six feet long."
"Are you nearly finished with your story, Monsieur Gratillet?" said Beauchamp, thoughtfully.
"Directly. Just as the door opened through which the convicts have to pass to leave the courtyard, I noticed among the crowd assembled to see them off a small humpbacked man. On his crooked shoulders a monkey balanced, a poodle in uniform sat on its hind legs beside him, in his right hand he held a bird-cage, and along his left arm a large rat promenaded up and down. The rat had a wonderfully pointed nose and long tail. It ran up and down the whole time, looking in every direction with its sharp eyes. The prisoners, the jailers and spectators laughed at its antics. The hunchback drew nearer, and, as it seemed to me, looked at Benedetto. The latter, however, did not notice him, and now I perceived I had made a mistake, and that the gaze of the ratcatcher was directed to Benedetto's comrade in chains."
"Did you know this comrade in chains?" asked Beauchamp, hurriedly.
"Yes; it was a former priest named Anselmo, if you have ever heard anything of him."
"Certainly. The priest was a disgrace to the cloth,"said Beauchamp. "So he is Benedetto's companion. A worthy pair."
"I thought so, too," continued Gratillet, laughing. "Suddenly the rat sprang from the arm of its master on to that of the ex-priest, and rubbing its pointed nose on his sleeve it fawned about him.
"'Oh, what a beautiful animal!' exclaimed Anselmo; 'present it to me.'
"'I would be a fool,' replied the hunchback, gruffly. 'I sell my animals, but I never give them away.'
"'But I have no money.'
"'You have a nice ring on your finger, give it to me and you can have my rat.'
"Now I am ready to swear to it," said Gratillet, solemnly, "that Anselmo had no ring on his finger before, whereas he had one now. He looked at the jailer and said: 'In case it is allowed, I should like to exchange my ring for the rat.'
"The jailer made no objection to this. The hunchback claimed that his rat was a wonderful animal, and he would show the tricks it could do. The rat sprang through little paper balloons, nodded and shook its head, just as it was asked, and finally crawled up Anselmo's sleeve. The prisoners were enthusiastic in their praises. Anselmo and the hunchback whispered softly together; finally, the jailer put a stop to the thing by shutting the gate and driving the prisoners back.
"'One word more,' exclaimed Anselmo, 'I do not know the name of my rat!'
"'The animal is called "Rat King,"' said the hunchback, putting his head once more through the door.
"I followed the hunchback; when he turned down anarrow street I cried to him: 'Au revoir, Monsieur Magloire,' and the look he gave me told me I had guessed right."
"You believe then—" said Chateau-Renaud.
"That the letter which the lady delivered in the Rue Contrescarpe was written by Anselmo and given to the lady through Benedetto, the letter inclosed the order for the rat, and everything went smoothly. The final act in the drama will not permit itself to be long waited for."
"As soon as we are ready," said Beauchamp, "Monsieur Gratillet can write it up for our paper. Can I count you, Monsieur Gratillet, from to-day on as one of my staff?"
"I desire no greater honor," replied Gratillet, his face beaming with joy.
The galley-slaves were shipped from Chalons to Lyons. No accident marred the trip, and all the prisoners were in good humor, with the exception of Benedetto. Anselmo tried his best to arouse his comrade, but his efforts were fruitless. Benedetto remained silent and gloomy. When the convicts were leaving the ship at Lyons, Anselmo whispered to his companion:
"Magloire is a good fellow: the file he sent me is sharp."
"The file?" repeated Benedetto, not understanding the allusion; "he did not give you any instrument!"
"What a stupid fellow you are. But keep patience; later on I will tell you more."
Benedetto, since the journey from Paris, was no longer recognizable; he no longer resembled the proud Andrea Cavalcanti, and sometimes even thought he was going crazy.
What sustained him was the thought of the million his mother intended to give the Jesuits on the 25th of February. This million he must secure for himself; but how he was to do so he did not know himself.
At first he thought Anselmo would keep his wordand free him; but gradually this hope vanished, and as the column marched into Toulon on the 28th of January, Benedetto was on the verge of despair.
In Toulon the iron necklace was taken off of the prisoners and replaced by an iron ball fastened to the leg. The prisoners were brought to the lavatory, given a bath, and then dressed in the historical clothing of a galley-slave.
As Anselmo and Benedetto were of the same stature, it was only natural that they were both chained together. They were placed in pontoon No. 2, and the little rat-king was their companion.
The rat soon made itself at home with all the prison officials and the prisoners, and not a night passed but what it played its tricks. Anselmo had taught it a great deal more, and when he asked it:
"Little rat-king, what are your feelings for the king, the law, and the turnkeys?" the little animal would bow at every side, cross its front feet over its breast, and move its pointed nose as if it were murmuring prayers, at the same time casting its eyes to the floor. If Anselmo would then ask:
"What is the penalty for those condemned to death?"
The rat would throw itself flat on the ground, and lie motionless, as if to appear dead.
Benedetto was the only one who was not amused. Whenever the rat came near him he would tremble violently. If Anselmo saw it he would make sarcastic remarks about princely ways, which caused Benedetto to grind his teeth with rage. His only desire now was to get away from his comrades in chains. But therewas little hope for this, more especially as he heard a jailer one day tell Anselmo he should get rid of his grumbling companion; if the rat were to support the petition it would not be difficult, and the ex-priest laughingly replied:
"Not a bit of it; Benedetto is just as agreeable to me as another; let us leave things as they are!"
As soon as the jailer turned away, Benedetto, mad with rage, turned to the ex-priest and said:
"Why won't you free me from your society?"
"Because I do not wish to have any strange face about me," was the indifferent reply. "You do not embarrass me in the least, and as I do not embarrass you—"
"On the contrary, you are distasteful to me," interrupted Benedetto, violently.
"Really? Your candor pleases me. Under all circumstances, we shall stay together."
"And suppose I kill you?" hissed Benedetto.
"Hem, my boy, that is easier said than done. Besides, I can tell you why you hate me."
"I am curious to know! I hardly know myself why I hate you," said Benedetto, maliciously.
"Because you think I lied to you, because in prison I spoke of escape, and have not said a word about that since."
Benedetto stammered a few unintelligible words, and was ashamed to have had his thoughts read so easily.
"Do you know the story of Brutus, who pretended to be a simpleton, so as to bring about the downfall of Tarquin the more effectually?" asked Anselmo, with a malicious smile.
"You are making fun of me," Benedetto gruffly answered. "Did you deceive me when you gave me the letter for Monsieur Magloire?"
"Do you really think so?"
"What a question! Do you think Monsieur Magloire could aid us in escaping?"
"Suppose he has already done so."
Benedetto looked at his comrade with wide open mouth.
"Are you really so anxious to escape?" continued Anselmo.
"Really anxious? I would give my right hand were I able to escape from prison on a certain day!"
"And when is that?"
"I must leave Toulon on the night of the 24th of April."
"You must! That settles it."
"Do not be sarcastic—I must be at liberty or else—"
"Well? or else—"
"Then, you will not betray me, will you?"
"Your anxiety on that point comes rather late," said Anselmo dryly. "To reassure you, however, let me tell you that it is not to my interest to betray you. Look at me. Just as I stand here, I have the power to set you free on the spot."
Benedetto uttered a cry.
"Are you speaking the truth?" he breathlessly asked.
"And why should I deceive you? Let me give you my conditions, and if you accept them you will be free on the evening of the 24th of February."
"What are your conditions?" asked Benedetto faintly.
"Give me half of the million you are seeking to get, and we are quits."
The Corsican looked tremblingly at the ex-priest.
"How do you know?" he stammered.
"That you are seeking to get a million—well, out of your dreams. The words 'the 24th of February,' and 'one million,' form the Alpha and Omega of your thoughts, and in your sleep you constantly repeat these words. You want to be free on the 24th, so as to steal this million. Steal it, but give me my share!"
"And you want?" stammered Benedetto.
"One quarter! I could demand half, but I will be modest."
"How are you going to secure our freedom?" asked Benedetto after a pause.
"That is my affair! I have an accomplice whom I can trust."
"An accomplice? Who can it be?"
"Swear to me that you will give me a quarter part of your million, and I will show him to you."
Benedetto took the oath. Anselmo whistled for his rat, and, pointing to the little animal, solemnly said:
"Here is our savior—the little rat-king will free us!"
Dr. D'Avigny sat in his private office and studied the sick-list of his asylum. A servant entered, and announced a young man who desired to speak with him.
"You know, Jean, that I do not like to receive visitors so late at night," said the physician.
"The gentleman gave me his card and told me you would receive him."
The doctor threw a glance at the card. No sooner had he read the name, Maximilian Morrel, than he hurriedly rose and said:
"Bring the gentleman in at once."
Dr. D'Avigny had only seen young Morrel once—at the time Valentine de Villefort sank apparently lifeless to the ground. As Maximilian entered, both men remembered the sorrowful circumstances under which they had met before, and, deeply moved, they shook each other's hand.
"Doctor," said Maximilian in a solemn voice, "I do not come to the physician but to the friend of the Villefort family."
D'Avigny bowed and Morrel continued:
"Can you tell me how Monsieur de Villefort is getting on?"
"His condition is hopeless," said the doctor sorrowfully; "as his attendant just informed me, he is again in possession of his senses, but I fear it is the last glimmering before the final extinguishment. He begged me to send for the district-attorney, as he wished to make an important communication to him, and as I hesitated he hurriedly said:
"'D'Avigny, I have no time to lose; Death is already sitting on my tongue.'"
"Then we must be quick," murmured Maximilian to himself, and then speaking aloud he said: "Doctor, would a great excitement injure your patient?"
"That depends upon the nature of the excitement," answered D'Avigny. "There can hardly be any more joys for Villefort, and troubles I would keep aloof from him."
"It is a question of a great joy, which, however, is not free from certain anxieties."
"You are speaking in riddles, Monsieur Morrel."
"Then let me unravel these riddles to you. Valentine de Villefort lives."
The old physician swayed from side to side and would have fallen to the ground had not Morrel caught him in his arms. Hot tears rolled over D'Avigny's cheeks, and sobbing he asked:
"Is it no dream? Does Valentine live?"
"She lives, and yearns to shake her old friend's hand," replied Morrel.
He then narrated to the astonished physician the extraordinary circumstance of Valentine's rescue from death. He told the dangers Monte-Cristo had undergone for her; how he had made the poisoned goblet of Madame deVillefort harmless, and how he had rescued him, too, from a suicide's death.
"And who is this Count of Monte-Cristo?" asked D'Avigny when Maximilian had ended.
"Doctor," said Morrel solemnly, "here my story ends. Who and what the Count of Monte-Cristo is I am not at liberty to tell. He has a mission to fulfil, rewards here and punishes there, and I myself have been at times moved to believe him a divine person. There is a mystery surrounding him, which he alone can clear up; but this I know, he is a noble man."
"Where is Valentine now?" asked D'Avigny after a short pause.
"Since the fall of the house of Villefort, Valentine has lived with her grandfather, Monsieur Noirtier, on his estate near Marseilles."
"That is the reason, then, why Monsieur Noirtier disappeared so suddenly from Paris?" said D'Avigny.
"Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo informed the old man that Valentine lived, and was in need of his protection. Monsieur Noirtier immediately arranged his affairs, and up to five days ago they were both living quietly at Oliolles, near Marseilles."
"And since then?" asked the physician, uneasily.
"About five days ago Valentine received this note. Please read it and tell me what you think of it."
Morrel handed the following letter to the doctor:
"Mademoiselle Valentine—In Paris, in the house of Dr. D'Avigny, a dying man awaits your consolation. If you wish to see your father alive, hurry to him."M. C."
"Mademoiselle Valentine—In Paris, in the house of Dr. D'Avigny, a dying man awaits your consolation. If you wish to see your father alive, hurry to him.
"M. C."
"The Count of Monte-Cristo must have written this note," said D'Avigny. "The initials M. C. prove it."
"We thought so, too," said Maximilian.
"Do you know where the count is now?"
"No."
"Where could he have found out that Monsieur de Villefort is dying? I myself have only known it since two days," said D'Avigny, meditatively.
"Oh, the count sometimes appears to be endowed with miraculous powers!" exclaimed Morrel, enthusiastically. "Valentine immediately travelled here under my protection. I—"
At this moment the door opened, and a young man about twenty-five years of age, with a fine open face, entered the room. Monsieur d'Avigny took pride in introducing him to Maximilian as his son Fritz.
"Papa," he said to the old gentleman, "Monsieur de Villefort is sinking rapidly."
"You have come at the right time," said D'Avigny, turning toward Maximilian; "where is Valentine?"
"At the home of my sister Madame d'Herbault."
"Then tell the two ladies, please, to come here at once," said the old gentleman. "Valentine can be at hand to come to her father when I call."
Morrel went away, and the father and son went to Monsieur de Villefort.
With his head between his hands, Monsieur de Villefort sat in his easy-chair, as if an uninterested spectator. When the door opened he rose in his chair, and, looking expectantly at the two physicians who entered, said:
"Well, is the district-attorney coming?"
"He will be here soon," replied D'Avigny, to quiet the old man.
"But I have no more time," exclaimed Villefort, passionately.
"Monsieur de Villefort," said the physician earnestly, "you know that the district-attorney can only be informed in cases of the utmost importance, and—"
"And is it not an important case when a man who has himself filled the office of district-attorney for years wishes to speak to his successor before he dies?" said Villefort, sharply. "What is the name of the new district-attorney?"
"Monsieur de Flambois."
"Oh, my former assistant," muttered the sick man, with a bitter smile. "Doctor, it is a question of rehabilitation. Tell Monsieur de Flambois to hurry up."
"I will do so," said Fritz, after an interchange of looks with his father, and he immediately left the room.
The old physician also went away, and immediately afterward Morrel conducted his sister and Valentine into the private office of the doctor.
Monsieur d'Avigny with deep emotion drew the young girl, who was attired in deep mourning, to his bosom, while the tears fell on Valentine's cheeks.
"My dearly beloved child," he said, with tenderness. "Thank God that my old eyes are permitted to see you once more."
"And my father?" asked Valentine, sobbing.
"You will see him, Valentine. Remain patient for a little while longer; he wants to see the district-attorney, and, as far as I understand, it is about some former injustice which he wishes to repair. Confide in me, I shall call you when the time comes. In the meantime take some refreshment, as you must be weak from the journey."
Valentine and Julie withdrew to an apartment which had been prepared for them, and d'Avigny and Morrel remained alone.
"If I could only understand," said the old man meditatively, "how Monsieur de Villefort ever could have such a daughter."
"Perhaps Valentine's mother, Mademoiselle de St. Meran, had a noble nature."
"I hardly think so. Of course I did not know Monsieur de Villefort's first wife, but, from what I have heard of her, she was very miserly, and a fit companion for her husband. Old Madame de St. Meran, too, was not exactly a tender-hearted woman."
"But she loved Valentine dearly," Morrel remarked.
"I admit that; although this love did not prevent her from trying to force Valentine into an obnoxious marriage. Monsieur d'Epinay was of an old aristocratic family, and that was why the old lady thought he would be a good match for her granddaughter. No, they were all selfish, and Valentine can congratulate herself for not being like them."
The entrance of the servant, who announced the arrival of Monsieur de Flambois and Monsieur d'Avigny, put an end to the conversation. The old physician immediately conducted Monsieur de Flambois to the bedside of his patient, whose eyes lighted up when he recognized the district-attorney.
"Monsieur de Villefort," began the district-attorney, bowing low, "you desired to speak to me to tell me something important. Do you wish our interview to be private?"
"No," said Villefort, solemnly. "I desire Monsieur d'Avigny to remain and act as a witness."
The physician seated himself on the bed, while Monsieur de Flambois took up a position at the writing desk.
"Monsieur de Villefort, we are ready."
"Gentlemen," said the sick man, in a clear, firm voice, "thanks to me and thanks to my wife, Heloise de Villefort, my family name has become infamous and I am not surprised my father no longer wishes to bear it."
"But, Monsieur de Villefort," interrupted the official.
"Let me speak. What would you think of a man who, to save himself, condemns another in cold blood to imprisonment for life."
"I would call him a criminal," said Flambois solemnly.
"Well, I am such a criminal. In the year 1814, I condemned a young man to life imprisonment and the heavens did not fall; I rose step by step, and for twenty-five years was looked upon as an honorable official whose reputation was above suspicion, although in my own heart I knew I was a rogue. But the man I thought had rotted away in jail was alive and revenged himself upon me. The first wife who bore my name was my accomplice, the second was a poisoner. She murdered every one who stood in her way; my son and Valentine became her victims; my other son sprung from a criminal attachment. I tried to kill him by burying him alive; as a punishment for me, he was rescued to die on the gallows."
"No, Monsieur de Villefort, Benedetto's sentence was commuted to life imprisonment," said Monsieur de Flambois.
"That is worse than the gallows," stammered the sick man. "My first and my second wife, Benedetto and myself deserved to have our names looked upon with loathing, but Valentine, my poor innocent Valentine, did not deserve this shame, and on her account I speak to-day."
"I do not understand you," said the district-attorney. "Your daughter Valentine—"
"Ah, what fools!" exclaimed Villefort. "How could you imagine that Valentine was my daughter? No, gentlemen, Valentine is not a Villefort! How could an angel be a member of such a sinful race!"
"I thought as much," muttered d'Avigny to himself,while Flambois looked at his former chief as if the latter were talking Sanscrit.
"When I married Renee de St. Meran," continued Monsieur de Villefort, after a short pause, "I was a young and ambitious official. My wife was also ambitious, and we were fitted in that respect for one another. Unfortunately for us both, there was a clause in the marriage contract, by which Monsieur and Madame de St. Meran pledged themselves to give our first child on its baptism a present of three hundred thousand francs. As soon as I was in possession of such a fortune, I could go to Paris, and once in the capital, I was sure to make my way. Renee was of the same mind as myself, she yearned to come to court and play a part in the world of society; Marseilles was too small for her. When Renee becameenceintewe were both overjoyed. The birth of a child would smooth our path, and we only thought of the first smile of the little being, to arrange our plans. The event so anxiously awaited by us was to take place at the beginning of May, 1816. To have you understand what followed, I must go back to April, 1815. I was sitting at work on the evening of the 4th of April, when loud screams attracted my attention. I opened the window; it was ten o'clock, and in the moonlight I observed that the street in front of our house was filled with a noisy and turbulent crowd of people. Collecting my thoughts, I blew out my lamp. I saw a man running rapidly along the street, followed by a great crowd shouting, 'Down with the Englishman.' The man ran so quickly that he distanced all his pursuers, and I already thought that he was saved, when I saw him stagger and fall. In a moment his pursuers were upon him, a loudcry was heard, and the next moment the unfortunate man was thrown into the river. Not long after all was still again. I lighted my lamp again and was about to continue my work, when I heard a slight tap at the window. I became frightened. Who could want me at this hour? Grasping a pistol, I walked cautiously into the garden, from whence proceeded cries for help. I listened, and could now hear a soft voice with a foreign accent whisper:
"'Help, my lord. For pity's sake help me.'
"I immediately thought of the cry, 'Down with the Englishman,' which I had heard before. This must be the man who had been thrown in the water. I grasped the man, who was shivering with cold and dripping with water, and led him into my library. By the light of the lamp I saw he was about thirty years old.
"'You have rescued me, sir,' he said in a soft voice, with a peculiar accent, 'but you will not find me ungrateful.'
"'Who are you, and what am I to do for you?' I asked him.
"'I was thought to be an English spy in the service of the royalists,' he said, laughing sorrowfully, 'and the excited crowd threw me into the river. Fortunately, I did not lose my senses; I dived under, swam a short distance and then gained the bank.'
"'Then you are not an Englishman?' I asked.
"'I, an Englishman?' he repeated, with his eyes sparkling with rage; 'what are you thinking of?'
"'But who then are you?' I exclaimed.
"He looked searchingly at me.
"'You are young,' he then said, 'you do not know what betrayal is; I will confide in you! Besides, youare a Frenchman and hate the English as I do. Tell me where is the Emperor Napoleon at present?'
"'In Paris.'
"'Are you sure?'
"'Positive.'
"'You love the emperor?'
"'I am his faithful servant.'
"'Thank Heaven. Would you assist me to reach Paris?'
"'Paris?' I repeated in astonishment.
"'Yes, I must reach the capital as soon as possible. I must rescue the emperor.'
"'The roads are not safe,' I hesitatingly replied, 'and if you have no passport—'
"'You are an official,' he interrupted me, 'perhaps a judge?'
"'I am what is called in England attorney for the crown.'
"'Ah, in England there are no judges,' he violently said. 'In England are only hangmen! Thank God I am in France; and my ancestors were French.'
"'And your home?'
"'Is the Orient, the land of the sun,' he said with emotion, as his eyes filled with tears. 'I am an Indian prince.'
"'That is the reason you hate England!' I suddenly exclaimed, as a light dawned on me.
"'Hate it! I curse it!' he said, in a choking voice. 'It is the home of traitors and murderers.'
"'But did you not tell me a little while ago that you were of French descent?'
"'Yes. Have you forgotten the names of thoseFrenchmen who fought so gloriously for India's independence? Dupleix, Labourdonnaye and Lally came with an army to India. My father belonged to Lally's detachment, and fell on the 27th of October, 1803, in the battle of Laswari. During his stay in India, he married a Mahratta at Scindia's court; two children resulted therefrom, a boy and a girl, and the son is the one you have rescued to-day.'
"'Then you are really a Frenchman?'
"'No; I call myself Mahratta; the blood of my mother betrays itself in my veins, for she was the daughter of a prince.'
"'And her name?'
"'I have almost forgotten it myself, as I was not permitted to pronounce it for such a long time. About five years ago Scindia began anew the struggle against English tyranny. We were defeated in the battle of Gwalior, and I and my sister Naya, a beautiful girl of fifteen, were taken prisoners by the English. For five years we suffered martyrdom; we were brought to England, and finally separated. About two months ago I managed to escape. I reached the coast, was taken on board a Spanish ship, and finally set foot on French ground. Paris is the place I desire to go to. Napoleon has promised us help if we assist him against the English. The whole of India will rise up and crush England, and Napoleon's throne will be secured forever.'
"The handsome youth stood before me like a prophet, and I enthusiastically exclaimed:
"'Whatever I can do to assist your plans shall be done. Tell me your name, and I will fill out your passport.'
"'I am the Rajah Siwadji Daola,' he said.
"'And your sister?' I asked; 'is she free, too?'
"'No; but she soon will be. A prince of the Mahrattas followed Naya to England; he loves her, and will soon bring her to France.'
"'To France? Have they a place to go to here?' I eagerly asked.
"'Let my sister and her husband find protection in your house,' he simply said, 'and the gods will reward you.'
"I hesitated for a moment, and then I cordially answered:
"'Let it be as you say—my house shall be open to your sister!'
"'A thousand thanks,' he joyfully cried. 'And so that you know my sister, look here.'
"He took out of his silk belt the half of a peculiarly formed bracelet, and handed it to me with the words:
"'Look at this bracelet! Whoever brings you the other half, receive in your house as a favor to me. I cannot leave the bracelet with you, but if you have a piece of wax I can make an impression which will answer the same purpose.'
"Wax was soon found, the broad gold plate, with its numerous hieroglyphics, was pressed in it, and after the impression had been secured the rajah hid the bracelet in his belt.
"'When can I get the pass?' he asked.
"'To-morrow morning. What name shall I put in?'
"'The name of my father—Jean d'Arras.'
"The rajah, upon my solicitation, threw himself onmy bed and slept a few hours. As soon as the day dawned he left the house with me, enveloped in a wide mantle, and as we had no difficulty in getting the necessary passports from the prefecture, he was already that same morning on his way to Paris."
"Monsieur de Villefort," said D'Avigny, anxiously, "you are exerting yourself too much; postpone the continuation until to-morrow."
"No, no," replied Villefort, "I must speak to-day; to-morrow would be too late.
"Three months later, Renee de St. Meran became my wife, the battle of Waterloo followed, and Napoleon was deposed forever. On the 6th of May, 1816, my wife gave birth to a child—a daughter. It was very sickly, though, and my mother-in-law feared it would not live until the next day. On the night following the birth of the child I was sitting reading at my wife's bedside, when I heard my name being softly called from the direction of the garden. At first I thought I was mistaken, but the cry was repeated, and I quietly slipped out. Near the garden hedge lay a white form; the moon was shining brightly, and I saw a woman's face of extraordinary beauty. Giving vent to a low murmur of astonishment, I drew near to the figure; when I perceived the glistening eyes and the satiny dark curls, I no longer doubted but what the woman who lay before me was Naya, the sister of the Rajah Siwadji.
"'You are Monsieur de Villefort?' she said, in a gentle voice.
"'Yes, and you are Naya,' I said, to make sure.
"'I am. My husband, the Rajah Duttjah, is dead. Save my child!'
"At these words the woman opened the white mantle which covered her, and I saw a new-born babe, which was wrapped up in a silk cloth. The poor mother looked anxiously at me. I took the child in my arms and a happy smile passed over the pale face.
"'Now I can die peacefully,' she whispered; 'my husband died as we were about to leave England—I felt myself a mother—I had to live. Night and day I have wandered. Barely two hours ago my child was born; I dragged myself to the house, but my strength failed me—here—is—the—bracelet—'
"She paused suddenly—I bent over her—she was dead. From her cold hand I took the half of the gold bracelet, and ran into the house. My wife was fast asleep. I laid the child in the cradle near my little daughter, and just thinking whether I should call the nurse who slept in the next room, when I perceived that I had laid the living child next to a dead one. Our little daughter had breathed her last!
"I stood as if struck by lightning. All the proud hopes we had built on the child's birth were gone. Suddenly the strange child began to cry, and my plan was quickly made. With trembling hands I dressed the strange child—it was a girl, too—in the clothes of my own daughter, and gathering the silk cloth about the latter, I carried her to the garden and placed her in Naya's arms.
"One hour later my wife awoke, and when she asked for our child, I gave her Naya's daughter!"
"Did not Madame de Villefort ever hear of the change which had been made?" asked the district-attorney.
"Oh, yes; my wife had placed a small chain with agolden cross around our child's neck just after it was born; in my hurry I had forgotten to put this talisman on the strange child; I first denied, then confessed, everything. Instead of heaping reproaches on me, she acquiesced in the fraud. The next day my father-in-law came; Naya's daughter was baptized under the name of Valentine de Villefort, and on the bed of the child, my happy parents-in-law laid my appointment as district-attorney in Paris, and bonds to the value of three hundred thousand francs. Naya, with the dead child in her arms, was found the next day at our door. They were both buried in the potter's field. The papers Naya carried were written in the Indian language; they were given to me as a high official, and since then they, together with the wax impression and the half of the bracelet, have lain in my private portfolio which always stands near my bed."
Upon a wink from Villefort, Monsieur de Flambois opened the portfolio designated; everything was found there as he had said.
"Did you never hear again from Daola?" said d'Avigny after a pause.
"Yes; three years later the rajah wrote me from India. He had fought at Waterloo, was again a captive of the English, and only had an opportunity at the end of a year to escape. Together with the Rajah Scindia, who later on went over to England, he had again begun the struggle for independence; he is now living in the interior of Hindustan, waiting for a better opportunity. He asked me for news from Naya; I wrote him I knew nothing of her, and that ended our correspondence.
"This is my confession. Now use justice and erase from the headstone under which Naya's daughter rests the name of Valentine de Villefort."
"Suppose Valentine de Villefort is still alive?" asked D'Avigny solemnly.
Both Villefort and Monsieur de Flambois uttered a cry of astonishment, and while the latter stammered forth an "Impossible," the sick man whispered: "To-day miracles do not occur any more!"
"Gentlemen," said the physician quietly, "you know I am a sensible man; why should I try to tell you a fable?"
"But I was at the funeral," stammered Flambois.
"I also, and yet I tell you the dead woman lives," persisted D'Avigny, "or if we want to call it by its proper name, Valentine de Villefort is dead and the daughter of Naya and the Rajah Duttjah lives."
"Then Valentine must have been buried alive," muttered Villefort, fixing his eyes upon the physician.
"And if that were the case?" said D'Avigny solemnly.
"Then I would say God has done a miracle to save the innocent," said Villefort, the tears starting in his eyes.
"Monsieur de Villefort," said the physician, earnestly, "do you know how Valentine died?"
"Too well—she was poisoned by my wife."
"What for?"
"Madame de Villefort wished to have Valentine's fortune go to her son."
"That is dastardly," said the district-attorney.
"Do you remember, Monsieur de Villefort," continued D'Avigny, "to have seen a mysterious man in your house some time prior to Valentine's death, whose mission it appears is to reward the good and punish the guilty?"
"Yes, I remember; you mean the Count of Monte-Cristo," said Villefort, with emotion.
"The Count of Monte-Cristo," repeated the district-attorney, contemptuously, "the adventurer?"
"Sir, do not blaspheme!" exclaimed Villefort, passionately; "if Valentine is saved she owes it to that God in the form of man—the Count of Monte-Cristo! He alone has the power to change the dead into the living. If Valentine lives, I will believe God has pardoned a portion of my sins."
"Gentlemen," said the district-attorney, doubtingly, "I only believe what I see; if Valentine de Villefort lives, let her show herself."
"Maximilian," called D'Avigny, opening the door, "tell Valentine to come in."
"Whom did you just call?" asked Villefort, when D'Avigny had closed the door again.
"Maximilian Morrel, Valentine's betrothed, the son of the shipping merchant Morrel, of Marseilles."
"Morrel—Marseilles—Edmond Dantes," murmured Villefort. "Ah, there is justice in Heaven!"
The door was now opened, and Valentine entered.She strode to Villefort's bed and sank on her knees beside it.
"Oh, father," she sobbed, embracing him tenderly. "Thank God, I see you again!"
Villefort gazed at Valentine as if she were a spectre; but tears fell on the young girl's cheeks, and his lean hands were crossed as if in prayer.
"Father, dearly beloved father!" stammered Valentine, weepingly, "why do you not speak? Have you no word of welcome for your Valentine?"
"Monsieur de Flambois, do you still doubt?" asked d'Avigny, softly.
"Yes, not your statement, but my reason," said the district-attorney, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Valentine," whispered Villefort, in a broken voice, "kiss me. Now I can die easy."
"Oh, father, father, you must not die!" she weepingly cried.
"I must, darling, but I die happy, since I know you will be well taken care of. Monsieur Morrel," he said, turning to the young man, "you know what unhappiness I once caused your father?"
"No, Monsieur de Villefort, I have forgotten everything, and only know that you are Valentine's father," said Maximilian, cordially. "Give us your blessing."
"No, no!" said Villefort, anxiously; "I dare not—I am not worthy of it! But one thing I can do; I can tell Valentine who she is, and Monsieur de Flambois and Monsieur d'Avigny will corroborate my words. Valentine, you, whom I have so often called daughter, look at me and listen to my words. You are the daughter of the Rajah Duttjah and his wife Naya. The marriageof your parents was celebrated at Epping Forest, in England, by a Brahmin, who was also a prisoner there; in the portfolio there you will find the paper relating to the marriage. Do not look at me so fearfully, my poor darling, I am speaking the truth, and these gentlemen will tell you later on all the details. Your parents are both dead. There is a letter in the portfolio from your mother's brother, the Rajah Siwadji Daola. It was written in 1818. If Daola still lives, he will find out that I deceived him; that I saw his sister die, and that Naya's child still lives."
"But, father," said Valentine, passionately, "if my parents are both dead, and you brought me up, I am nevertheless your daughter."
"Thanks, Valentine. But before my strength gives way, I must perform another duty. Doctor, a glass of wine; I have one more favor to ask of Valentine."
D'Avigny poured out a glass of red wine for Monsieur de Villefort, and Valentine put her arm around the dying man's neck, and rested his head against her bosom.
"I want you to look after my son, Valentine," whispered Villefort. "Oh, what would I not give if I could wear the chains instead of him—what is death to the life led by a galley-slave? If it is in your power to do anything for Benedetto, do not fail to do it. He is a scoundrel, but I was the cause of his downfall. Have mercy on him, and I die peacefully!"
"Father," said Valentine, solemnly, "your wish shall be sacred to me. I shall go in search of Benedetto, and bring him your last wishes."
"You are—an—angel," stammered Villefort. "Farewell. Ah—this—is—death!"
A shiver ran through Villefort's frame—a deep groan—a long breath—he was dead.
As soon as Valentine's first grief subsided, the physician persuaded her to stay in her room for the rest of the night, while the gentlemen conferred about the wonderful confession they had heard.
"If I only knew," said Flambois, thoughtfully, "what the papers written in the Indian language contain—I—"
"Monsieur de Flambois," interrupted young D'Avigny, modestly, "if you give me the documents I will translate them for you."
"Really? How can you do it?" asked the district-attorney, doubtingly.
"Very easily. Besides my profession as a doctor, I am an enthusiastic Orientalist. I am always in hopes of being able to go to India: the home of the lotus flower has always had attractions for me. Give me the papers and I will give you the translation to-morrow."
"Here are the papers," said Flambois, thoughtfully.
They then separated.
The next day, as D'Avigny was sitting with his daughter, Julie, Valentine and Maximilian at table, a light knock was heard at the door, and in obedience to the summons to come in, Ali, Monte-Cristo's black servant, appeared on the threshold.
Valentine and Maximilian uttered a cry of surprise. Ali bowed deeply, handed the physician a letter, and disappeared.
D'Avigny opened it and read the following:
"Waiting and hoping! In these two words lies the mystery of life. Be courageous and God will help."
As soon as Monsieur de Villefort's remains were buried, Valentine, Maximilian and Julie returned to Marseilles. Valentine wished to make the journey to Toulon, and then go to Italy for the remainder of the winter with Maximilian, her grandfather, and the Herbaults. D'Avigny's last words at the parting were:
"Beware of Benedetto!"
The days at the Bagnio passed monotonously. The rat furnished the evening's amusement, and in the same degree as Benedetto was excited, Anselmo remained calm and cool. On the evening of the 24th of February, the young man's patience was exhausted, and he forgot himself so much as to call Anselmo a liar and traitor, even threatening him with death.
"Come, come," said Anselmo indifferently, "don't be so violent. Instead of exciting yourself you had better be calm and tell me what relation it has with the million."
"That means," hissed Benedetto, "I should tell you my secret."
"You are a fool," said Anselmo, laughing; "remember that you can never get the million without my aid, and therefore leave off your sulks and speak."
"You are always right," growled Benedetto. "You have my fate in your hands and I must speak. The million, of course, must first be earned—"
"I am not so foolish as to imagine that the million will fly into my mouth like a broiled pigeon,"interrupted Anselmo; "but first of all, I must know if you have some right to this million?"
"Certainly," replied Benedetto; "if the million should slip from my grasp, I should look upon myself as being robbed."
"Really—who is the thief?"
"A woman!"
"I thought so; the lady no doubt who took charge of the letter?"
"The same."
"And you must be set free punctually on the 24th?"
"Yes, on the 25th the money would be irredeemably lost."
"H'm! that would be fatal. Well, I shall arrange it."
"You arrange it? Are you ever going to tell me how you intend to set us free?"
Anselmo peered cautiously about. The jailers were sleeping in the corners, and the other prisoners, as it was Sunday, were amusing themselves with the rat, which ran from board to board, performing the most difficult tricks.
"I will call our savior at once," whispered Anselmo, and, whistling softly, he called the little rat-king to him.
The rat immediately came to its master and climbed upon his knee. Anselmo took the animal in his hand, put it on its back, and took from under its thick, hairy skin a small, thin instrument called in galley-slave slang "cow's tail."
Benedetto uttered a cry of astonishment. Anselmo waved before his comrade's eyes a narrow little tooth-saw.
"Do you believe in my promise now?" the ex-priest triumphantly exclaimed: "the jailers call our little animal 'rat!' I call him 'necessary.'"
Benedetto laughed aloud. Anselmo placed the instrument back in its place and the little rat-king sprang away, while Benedetto looked at him deaf and dumb with astonishment.
"I am convinced now," he finally said, breathing deeply, "and now you shall hear how the million is to be got. A lady will come here on the 24th—"
"Are you sure of it?"
"Positive. On the 25th this woman will draw one million to give to others."
"You are joking—she intends to give away a million?"
"Yes, and we two will prevent her," said Benedetto, firmly.
"And who is to get the million?"
"The Church, of course; you understand, now, that I must be free on the 24th, so as to be able to follow the lady and take the million from her."
"Yes, I understand. Who is the woman?"
Benedetto shrugged his shoulders.
"Do not bother yourself about that, that is my affair." He answered indifferently.
"Is it a former girl of yours?"
"No."
"A relative?"
"No."
"Good. Keep your secret. Tell me one thing more. Will it be a stabbing case?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't make yourself so green. From what I know of the world, this woman, who intends to give the money to the Church, will not offer it to you. You will take it from her, and if she resists—" He finished the sentence with a suggestive gesture.
Benedetto became pale as death. He bit his lips and in a hollow voice replied:
"What is necessary will occur."
"Good. I am pleased with you; but look—there comes a lady on our pontoon. Perhaps that is your millionnairess."
Benedetto looked in the direction indicated. A lady, leaning on the arm of a gentleman and accompanied by several high officials, was coming toward him.
The Corsican gave vent to an oath and made a movement as if he intended to throw himself upon the party. "Redhead," said the jailer, letting his heavy stick fall on Benedetto's shoulders, "you are trying to fly away?" Benedetto gritted his teeth. He had recognized Valentine, and as she was a Villefort, and occupied the place he thought ought to have been his own, he would have liked to have wrung her neck. He recognized Morrel, whom he had seen in Monte-Cristo's house at Auteuil, and he, too, made his anger rise. He thought they had both come to gloat over his shame. The head officer whispered a few words to the jailer, and immediately afterward Benedetto and Anselmo were ushered into the presence of the visitors.
"They take me along too because they can't help it," said Anselmo wickedly, pointing to the chain which bound them.
The jailer nodded, and the ex-priest whispered in Benedetto's ear:
"Commit no follies. You look as if you would like to poison every one."
"That is what I should like to do. But have no fear, I will be circumspect."
"Which one of you is named Benedetto?" asked the inspector, gruffly, turning to the convicts.
"I," said the former Prince Cavalcanti, modestly.
"You are wanted. Follow me, but do not speak a word or else you will be put in the black hole."
Benedetto bowed silently, and the next minute stood with his comrade before Valentine.
The young girl drew back in terror, as she saw him whom she had thought was her brother. She soon collected herself and gently said:
"Sir, Monsieur de Villefort is dead."
Benedetto's eyes shone. He felt a wild joy at the death of the man he so bitterly hated.
"On his death-bed," continued Valentine with emotion, "he thought of you, and the officials have carried out his last wishes, and allowed me to bring you his regards and certain ameliorations for you. From this day on you are freed from double chains, and if you conduct yourself well in the future, you can hope for other mercies. Farewell, and may God be with you."
Valentine's voice broke, Maximilian laid his arm protectingly around the young girl and led her away, while Benedetto and Anselmo were brought back to their comrades.
"Who is the lady?" asked Anselmo. "She is very handsome."
Benedetto remained silent and the ex-priest looked distrustfully at him.
Toward evening the blacksmith came, and Benedetto was freed from Anselmo.
"Keep up your spirits," said the jailer to the ex-priest, "and I will see what can be done for you. In a few days a new column will arrive, and if you conduct yourself properly, I will see that you get no new comrade."
"I will let my little rat-king intercede for me," said Anselmo, laughing, and the jailer nodded.
The 24th of February dawned, and Benedetto, who had not closed an eye during the night, looked so miserable in the morning that Anselmo became frightened.
"Come, now, you are frightened, perhaps?" he maliciously asked. The look he received from his comrade made him pause.
The prisoners went as usual to work, and gradually Benedetto calmed down. The night was to bring the decision, and if Anselmo lied he would make him pay dearly for it.
During this time a carriage with four horses rode from Aubagne to Beaussuet. At the inn of the latter place it stopped, and while the guard put fresh horses in the traces, the occupant of the coach, a heavily veiled woman, got out and asked of the postmaster who advanced how far it was to the nearest vicarage.
"About fifty steps from the inn," he said.
"Then please let some one come along with me to show me the way," begged the lady.
"Directly, madame. Jean, lead this lady to the vicarage."
"Yes, Monsieur Etienne," was the servant's reply, "but the priest is not at home."
"What?" said the lady, astonished. "Where is he, then?"
"I do not know. He rode past me this morning. Perhaps the housekeeper can tell us," added the servant.
"Good. Let us go there," said the lady, and before the end of five minutes they were at the vicarage.
The door was opened by an elderly woman. She made a courtesy when she saw the lady, and politely said: "Ah, madame—you are here."
"Were you expecting me?" asked the lady, astonished.
"Certainly; his reverence was unfortunately obliged to go on a journey, but there is a letter here for Madame Danglars, if you are the lady."
"I am Madame Danglars," said the lady, quickly.
The old woman handed her a letter, and invited her to make herself at home. Upon which she left.
As soon as the lady found herself alone, she hastily tore open the letter. It contained a sealed packet, and these lines:
"Madame—I am, unfortunately, not able to receive you personally. A journey obliges me to be disrespectful. Nevertheless I hope to see you to-morrow, and beg you to make yourself comfortable in my house. All your conditions have been fulfilled. I inclose a note addressed to the port inspector at Toulon and hope everything will turn out as you desire."Jean Balais, Curate of Beaussuet."
"Madame—I am, unfortunately, not able to receive you personally. A journey obliges me to be disrespectful. Nevertheless I hope to see you to-morrow, and beg you to make yourself comfortable in my house. All your conditions have been fulfilled. I inclose a note addressed to the port inspector at Toulon and hope everything will turn out as you desire.
"Jean Balais, Curate of Beaussuet."