"Maldar," the count cried aloud, "I am here."
The door was opened. Monte-Cristo went into a large courtyard. Maldar was waiting for him.
"Here I am," said the count. "You have called me about the ransom for my son. What is the sum you ask?"
"I did not say it should be money."
"Then take my life—anything you wish."
"What I want of you is neither gold nor your life. I know who you are, and the position you occupy in your country. Your countrymen have confidence in you, and I—"
"Go on—go on," urged Monte-Cristo.
"Have patience. Come here and write."
Maldar went toward a table upon which were writing materials, and, pressing a pen in Monte-Cristo's hand, he shoved a piece of paper toward him.
The count was silent, and seated himself at the table.
"I, the Count of Monte-Cristo," the Arabian began to dictate, "inform the Governor of Themcen that I am at Uargla, and have won the confidence of the SultanMaldar. More than one hundred French prisoners are in the Kiobeh. The Khouans are not numerous and do not anticipate an attack. The defile of Bab-el-Zhur is easy to reach and only poorly defended. A force of bold soldiers could secure possession of the city in an easy manner. Success is certain."
Monte-Cristo, without hesitation, had written the words down, and the Arabian, looking sharply at him, continued:
"Put your name under what you have just written—"
"One word more," interrupted the count. "I understand your aim. You want to lead a French detachment in ambush?"
"Yes. For the head of your son, I require those of a hundred Frenchmen."
"Spero," cried the count, "my darling boy, should I, your father, ensnare one hundred Frenchmen into an ambush? I have written the letter, the signature alone is missing; hear me, while I read it to you."
Monte-Cristo, in a trembling voice, read the letter.
"Spero, my son, choose between life and death. Shall I sign the letter?"
"You cannot hear his voice," said Maldar; "but wait a moment, and I will have him brought here."
He motioned with his hand. The door was thrown open, and the next minute Spero lay in his father's arms.
"Speak, Spero, what shall I do?"
The boy took the paper and tore it into pieces.
"Let them kill us," he said, firmly.
When Maldar heard these words, he gave a wild yell and sprang upon the boy.
"Wretched worm!" he hissed; "are you aware that I can break every bone in your body?"
Saying this, Maldar drew a long pistol from his belt and pointed it at the boy's face. Quick as thought Monte-Cristo seized the Arab by the throat, and threw him among the Khouans.
"Fire—fire!" shouted Maldar.
The men obeyed, but not a bullet entered the room.
"Put your arms about my neck, Spero," said the count, "and have no fear. Away with the Count of Monte-Cristo," he added in a vibrating voice; "Edmond Dantes, arise from out of the past, and help a father to rescue his son."
He placed himself in a winding of the narrow stairs. Here no ball could reach him. A Khouan appeared, but the iron bar with which Monte-Cristo had armed himself descended on his head with terrific force. A second and third received the same reception. Maldar, wild with rage, continually screamed:
"Kill him, in the name of Allah!"
Monte-Cristo was struck by a ball, and a dagger was thrust in his foot. But he paid no attention to it. He dared not retreat if he wished to save Spero. His arm threatened to become lame, his powers were fast failing him, and he thought all was up with him. Suddenly he heard loud curses uttered in the French language. He recognized them as belonging to Coucou and Jacopo. Thank God! they had remembered him and effected an entrance.
"Count of Monte-Cristo!" came a loud voice through the night.
Not believing his ears, the count walked to the edge of the roof, and saw a sight which nearly caused him to lose his senses. At the foot of the tower a troopof horsemen had gathered. The voice he had heard belonged to a woman, and by the light of the lightning he recognized Miss Clary Ellis, the young girl he had seen at Mercedes' house.
"Count of Monte-Cristo!" Clary exclaimed, in a clear, bright voice, "courage! Help is coming."
"Count of Monte-Cristo," came from another voice, "thanks, in the name of my mother."
Breathless, with his arm about Spero's neck, the count leaned against the wall, and he whom nothing surprised uttered an exclamation of astonishment when he looked down.
A man was climbing up the smooth wall. So interested were the count and Spero in the picture that they did not hear the stealthy steps behind them. Maldar was the man, and he had stretched forth his hands toward the boy. The count perceived him in the nick of time, and clutching him by the throat, threw him headlong down into the courtyard. The next minute the bold climber had jumped over the wall and anxiously cried:
"Count of Monte-Cristo, we must first rescue the child."
He took a long rope and bound it round Spero's waist. Then he let the boy gently over the parapet.
"Papa," came Spero's voice from below, "I am safe."
The stranger pulled the rope up anew, and said as he turned to the count:
"It is your turn now."
"But you?"
"Oh, never mind me; in case of necessity I will jump off. But be quick, we have no time to lose."
Monte-Cristo grasped the cord and was let down by the stranger. Looking up, he saw his rescuer sliding down the wall. As soon as he had touched the ground, the count went to him and, shaking him by the hand, said:
"You have saved my life, sir, and that of my son. Tell me your name, please, that I may know to whom I owe our rescue."
"I am a French colonist, count, and my name is Fanfaro."
Coucou and Albert now ran up to the count.
"The gentleman is evidently a monkey?" he asked the Zouave.
Fanfaro laughed.
Mademoiselle Clary now approached the count.
"How thankful I am," she said, "to have arrived so opportunely."
"And what brought you here?" asked the count.
"I swore to follow you," replied Clary, blushing, "but was delayed so many times, that I gave up all hope of rescuing your son. Fortunately I came across Monsieur Fanfaro. To him belongs the credit and—"
"And now, I thank God, the matter is over," interrupted Madame Caraman.
"And it was for me, count, that you incurred all these dangers?" asked Albert.
Monte-Cristo looked tenderly at the young man.
"I thank God I found you," he said, extending his arms to the young man.
"And now," Albert said, "let me present you to my other rescuer."
Gratillet advanced and, bowing gracefully, said:
"Count, excuse me, please, if my clothes are not exactly fashionable, but we have had no time to make our toilet."
Albert and the journalist, instead of having fallen down a precipice, had fallen into a lake. When Monte-Cristo heard Gratillet's name, he uttered a cry of surprise.
"Monsieur Gratillet," he said, "are you not a friend of Beauchamp?"
"Yes, his friend and reporter."
"But where is Jacopo?" asked the count, looking about for the Corsican.
"Jacopo is dead," said the Zouave; "a bullet shot him through the heart."
Monte-Cristo hurried with Coucou and Albert to the spot where Jacopo had fallen. Suddenly he struck his forehead.
"What has become of Medje?" he asked.
"Medje?" asked Albert.
"Yes, she brought us here, and—merciful Heaven! here she lies," the count exclaimed.
Medje was lying motionless on the ground, with a dagger wound in the shoulder.
"Poor Medje!" said Albert.
"Little father," whispered Medje when she had regained consciousness.
She stroked Albert's hand. Then her dark eyelashes closed over her eyes. Medje was dead.
Monte-Cristo and Albert rode slowly near Fanfaro, while Coucou and Gratillet kept the ladies company. The Zouave spoke continually with Madame Caraman.
"Tell me," said Coucou, "how did you come to Africa?"
"Because my lady wished it."
"That is a bitter disappointment. I had imagined that it was on account of—"
"You—you stupid fool!"
"I will be good, Madame Caraman, if you will tell me how you came to Uargla."
"We followed the Count of Monte-Cristo."
"You are in love with him."
"We followed the count because we wished to aid him in rescuing Captain Joliette."
"But tell me about the Americans."
"They deserted us as soon as we reached the land. The Arabs had previously stolen our camels."
"Infamous race," growled Coucou.
"We were thus all alone in the desert. We suffered from hunger and thirst, and had we not fortunately reachedthe oasis on the second day, we would probably lie now buried in the desert. At the oasis we made the acquaintance of Monsieur Fanfaro, a handsome man of forty."
"You noticed that," said the Zouave, ironically.
"Monsieur Fanfaro brought us to his farm, where his wife, a charming woman, received us. Between ourselves, I do not think Fanfaro has ever been a rope-dancer. His manners and features show he must be of good family, and I am tempted to call him a second Monte-Cristo."
This Fanfaro, as Madame Caraman had rightfully said, was a remarkably distinguished-looking gentleman. Monte-Cristo looked attentively at the colonist; he guessed that there was some mystery surrounding the man, and that something had caused him to seek a home in the desert. Finally they all reached the oasis, and Monte-Cristo breathed more freely. Three persons came to meet the travellers: a woman, who led a child by the hand, and a strangely formed creature which hopped about and looked more like a frog than a human being.
"What is that?" asked the count.
"Oh," replied Fanfaro, laughing, "that is Bobichel."
"Bobichel?"
"Yes, he was once a clown when I was an acrobat. He amuses my little son now, by imitating the frog."
Bobichel uttered a cry of joy as he saw the party approach.
"Thank God, master," he gleefully cried, "that you are home again. Caillette, Firejaws!" he cried aloud, "he is just returned!"
A woman and a giant hurried at Bobichel's call.
Fanfaro jumped from his horse, and embraced his wife and daughter.
"Irene, have a bed prepared. The child will be intrusted to your care."
Madame Caraman carried Spero into the house. Monte-Cristo examined the patient carefully, and breathed more lightly.
"A few days' rest will set him all right again," he said, turning to Fanfaro, "and if we can make use of your friendship—"
"Count, what I possess is yours. But let me introduce you to the colony," said Fanfaro.
Upon his call his wife appeared, a charming brunette about thirty years of age.
"Madame Fanfaro," said the colonist, "followed me to the desert."
"This is Firejaws, the king of athletes. And now it is the turn of Bobichel, the clown."
"It looks to me like a fairy tale," said the count. "Were you really a tight-rope walker and acrobat before?"
"Yes, count, and I am the only one of us who has given up the profession for good."
Monte-Cristo gazed interestedly at the speaker and his wife. Fanfaro, as we have before observed, was a fine-looking man, and Madame Irene looked like a marquise.
"Monsieur Fanfaro," said Monte-Cristo at table one day, "I do not know who you are, but I drink to your health and that of all the other members of the colony. May God always protect you and yours!"
"Oh, Monsieur Fanfaro," exclaimed Madame Caraman, "won't you tell us your history? I am curious to know it."
"What does Irene say to the proposition?" asked Fanfaro tenderly.
"Oh, I am satisfied," replied the handsome woman, laughing.
"Good, then I shall begin," said Fanfaro.
And while Spero slept Fanfaro began to relate the story of his life. As it is long, we shall narrate it in Part II. of "The Son of Monte-Cristo."
"THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO" (END OF PART ONE)
Project Gutenberg has Volume II of this work.Seehttp://www.gutenberg.org/etext/22086