Edmond Dantès
"But why does not the Countess marry again?" asked Chateau-Renaud,
surveying her faultless form and face through his glass. "In the prime
of life, rich, and, despite her past troubles, most exquisitely
beautiful, it is strange she don't make herself and some one else
happy!"
"Especially as no one could ever accuse her of having very desperately
loved her dear first husband," added the journalist. "Why don't she
marry, Lucien?"
"How the devil should I know!" replied the Secretary in great confusion.
"You don't suppose I ever asked her the question, do you?"
"Upon my word," exclaimed the Count, laughing, "I shall begin to think
you have, if you take it so warmly. But, hist! the bell! The curtain
rises. We mustn't lose the third act of Donizetti's chef d'oeuvre,
with such a Lucrezia, for any woman living."
But it was very evident that much of the magnificent performance of the
debutante and her companion, in the thrilling scene between the Duke and
Duchess of Ferrara and the young Captain Gennaro, was lost to the
Secretary.
"Do you observe, Beauchamp, how strangely fascinated with the new
cantatrice seems the young officer of the Spahis who accompanies the
Countess?" he whispered. "Do but look. He sits like one transfixed."
"And the Countess seems transfixed also, though not by the same object,"
was the reply. "How excessively pale, yet how beautiful she is! That
plain black dress, without ornament or jewel, and her raven hair, parted
simply on her forehead, enhance her voluptuous charms infinitely more
than could the most gorgeous costume. Heavens! what a happy man will he
be who can call her his!"
"Amen!" said Debray, and the word seemed to rise from the very depths of
his heart. "But she will never marry. Some early disappointment, even
before her union with Morcerf, has withered her heart, and the terrible
divorce which parted her from him, although she never loved him, will
keep her single forever. Her first and only love is either dead
or--worse--married to another."
"See, see, Lucien!" cried Beauchamp, hurriedly; "at whom does she gaze
so intently, and yet so sadly? It cannot be Lamartine, for there sits
his lovely young English wife at his side; nor can it be old Arago, nor
young Le Verrier; and yet some one in that box it surely is."
"M. Dantes?" cried Debray.
"Impossible! That man seems hardly conscious that there are such beings
as women. His whole soul is in affairs of state."
"His whole soul seems somewhere else just at present," exclaimed the
Secretary, bitterly. "Look!"
"How dreadfully pale he is!" said Beauchamp; "and yet his eyes fairly
blaze. Is it the Countess he gazes at?"
"Is it M. Dantes she gazes at?"
At that moment, amid the wild farewell of the mother to her son, upon
the stage, the curtain came down, and at the same instant, M. Dantes
hastily pressed his white handkerchief to his lips, and, leaning on the
arms of Lamartine and Arago, hastily left the box.
"Ha! the Countess faints!" cried Debray, as the door closed on M.
Dantes. "Do they know each other, then?"
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ITALIAN LOVER.
It was early in the evening succeeding the day on which M. Dantes had
answered Giovanni Massetti's letter. Zuleika was seated in the vast,
sumptuously-furnished salon of the magnificent Morcerf mansion, now, as
the reader already knows, the residence of the famous and mysterious
Deputy from Marseilles. She sat upon a superb green velvet-covered sofa,
half reclining in an indolent, picturesque attitude; behind the sofa and
leaning over its back stood a young Italian, a perfect model of manly
beauty; his ardent black eyes were riveted on Zuleika's blushing
countenance with a look of the most profound and enthusiastic adoration,
while his hand held the young girl's with a gentle, loving pressure,
which was returned with unmistakable warmth. The apartment was dimly
lighted and huge, sombre patches of shadow lay everywhere. Zuleika and
her lover were alone together; for some time they seemed too full of
happiness to speak, but finally Giovanni said, in a soft, flutelike
whisper, as if unwilling to break with loudly uttered words the
delicious spell of his love-dream:
"Zuleika, darling Zuleika, so you did not once forget me during our
long, cruel separation?"
"Never for a single instant, Giovanni," answered the young girl, the
flush upon her cheek deepening as she spoke, her hand tightening about
her lover's and her lovely eyes filling with a soft fire. "But I
sometimes feared you had forgotten me!"
"You were always present in my mind and in my heart," replied the
Italian in a tone that thrilled her through and through. Stooping, he
placed his lips to her forehead and imprinted upon it a long and silent
kiss; then, flushing in his turn, he added, still holding his head
against hers: "From the very moment of our first meeting you have
reigned in my bosom, my own, my love, the queen of my destiny and my
life!"
"Oh! Giovanni, Giovanni," murmured the young girl, "I am happy, so
happy!"
He kissed her again, this time upon her upturned lips that with a slight
movement almost imperceptibly returned the kiss, sending his blood
tingling through his veins and causing him to tremble with delight from
head to foot. No longer able to restrain himself, he hastily quitted the
back of the sofa, threw himself down beside her and clasping her in his
arms drew her unresistingly upon his bosom. Once there she did not offer
to stir, but even nestled closer to him and pillowed her head on his
broad shoulder. The tumultuous beating of both their hearts was audible
amid the unbroken silence that ensued. With one hand the Viscount
tenderly smoothed her silken tresses, and his arm tightened around her
waist as if he had determined never to release her again.
"Your father, in his letter of this morning," said Giovanni finally,
"told me there was hope, that you did not look upon my addresses with
aversion, and that I had his leave to pay court to you and ascertain
your wishes from your own dear lips. I hastened here this evening, and
M. Dantes himself bade me seek you in this salon. I came on the wings of
love and found all my fondest hopes realized; that I possessed your
heart as you possessed mine. Oh! tell me, Zuleika, that this is not all
a dream, for it seems too delicious to be true!"
"It is reality, Giovanni, blessed reality," answered the young girl in a
low voice.
"And do you really love me with all your soul?"
"With all my soul, Giovanni!"
The ardent Italian showered a flood of burning kisses upon her forehead,
cheeks and lips, and she quivered like a leaf in his embrace. Then he
said, with a shade of anxiety in his tone:
"And your brother Esperance, is he disposed to look upon me with
approval? You know that in Rome he did not see fit to include me in the
number of his friends. We had a little difference, you will remember,
and ever afterwards he was cold toward me."
Zuleika shuddered as she recalled the fact that the little difference
alluded to had been a violent quarrel that had nearly resulted in a duel
between the two young men. She had never known the details, for both her
brother and Giovanni had studiously concealed them from her; indeed,
Esperance had carefully avoided all mention of the Viscount's name ever
since the day they had become embroiled. Was M. Dantes aware of the
trouble between his son and the youthful Italian? She did not know, but,
at the same time, felt firmly persuaded that her father had fully
investigated the doings, character and family of her suitor, and would
not have sanctioned a renewal of his addresses to her had he not been
perfectly satisfied in every respect. She, therefore, answered:
"I am altogether ignorant as to what Esperance thinks of you, and cannot
say whether he still harbors resentment against you or not; but,
whatever may be his opinion and feelings, rest assured that he will
never interfere to cause his sister an instant of unhappiness, more
especially as he knows that my father looks upon you with a favoring
eye."
"But how about the coldness existing between us?"
"Does it still exist on both sides?"
"Not on mine, Zuleika, not on mine. I forgave and forgot all long ago."
"Forgave and forgot! Then Esperance must have wronged you!"
"He did, Zuleika, and with the proverbial hot blood and headlong
impulses of the Roman youth I resented that wrong. But I could not
remain at enmity with the brother of the girl I loved, so when I became
cooler I sought him out and endeavored to apologize."
"And he accepted your apology?"
"He did not accept it, but turned on his heel and left me without a
word. He evidently thought me a coward and attributed my efforts toward
effecting a reconciliation to a desire to escape fighting him."
"But why did you quarrel in the first place? What was the cause of the
difference between you?"
The young Italian hung his head and did not answer. Zuleika saw that he
had grown deadly pale, and she felt his hand tremble nervously.
Freeing herself from his embrace, the young girl sprang to her feet and
faced him.
"Giovanni," said she, firmly, "tell me the whole story of this painful
affair. It is imperative that I should know it!"
"Do you doubt me, Zuleika, do you doubt me?" he asked, bitterly, and he
buried his face in his hands.
"Do I doubt you, Giovanni? No. But, if you love me, tell me all the
details of the trouble between my brother and yourself!"
"I cannot, I cannot, Zuleika!" he cried. "Command me to shed the last
drop of blood in my veins for you and I will do it without an instant's
hesitation, but I cannot tell you that terrible tale of deceit,
treachery and bloodshed!"
He had arisen and was walking excitedly about the salon; his pallor had
increased and he trembled in every limb.
Zuleika stood with folded arms and gazed at him; she was calm and her
eyes had a look of determination the young man had never before beheld
in them; it filled him with dismay. A few moments ago she had been all
love and tenderness, a yielding, trusting maiden in her lover's arms;
now, she resembled a beautiful Amazon bent on achieving a victory, whom
nothing but unconditional surrender would satisfy.
"The story, the story," she repeated, "tell me the story!"
Her face was as white as marble and her faultless lips seemed chiseled
from stone. She looked so beautiful and tempting as she stood there, her
surpassing loveliness enhanced by the picturesque half-oriental,
half-Parisian dress she wore, that the Viscount felt his passion for her
redoubled. He flung himself at her feet and seizing the hem of her
superb robe kissed it rapturously.
"Oh! Zuleika, Zuleika," he cried, utterly unable to restrain himself, "I
am your slave! Place your tiny foot upon my neck and crush me where I
lie! I shall expire adoring you!"
"Giovanni," replied Zuleika, greatly moved by this display of devotion,
"rise and be a man!"
The Italian sprang up as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt; then he
endeavored to clasp her in his arms, but she quietly repulsed him.
"Zuleika," cried he, sadly, "you do not love me; you never loved me; I
have been the victim of a cruel deception!"
"If you think so," answered the young girl, quietly, "there is but one
course you can pursue as a man of honor--spurn the deceiver from you and
never look upon her face again!"
The young man gazed at her reproachfully.
"What have I done to turn you thus against me?" he asked, his tone
suddenly becoming humble.
"What have you done? You refuse to reveal this mystery to me, which, as
you yourself admit, involves deceit, treachery and bloodshed, and which,
for aught I know, has set an indelible stain upon your life! I love you