Edmond Dantès
of a gulf I cannot see, it is your duty to inform me not only of my
danger but also of its nature. Am I not right?"
Heaving a deep sigh, Esperance replied:
"Yes, you are right, Zuleika; it is my duty to tell you all--and yet I
cannot!"
"At least, tell me why you are compelled to maintain silence on a
matter of so much importance."
"Did you question the Viscount?"
"I did."
"And what answer did he return?"
"Like you, he refused to answer."
"Ah! then he has some sense of shame left!"
"Shame?"
"Yes, shame! And what did you do when he refused to speak?"
"I left him."
"And you will not see him again?"
"Not until he has decided to tell me all."
"Then you will never put eyes upon him more; he dare not tell you!"
"Dare not! And why?"
"Because, did you know the depth of his infamy, you would spurn him from
you!"
Suddenly a grave suspicion stole into Zuleika's mind and made her
tremble from head to foot. Might it not be that Esperance had been as
deeply involved in the mysterious and infamous affair of which he
declined to speak as Giovanni Massetti himself? The thought was torment,
and totally unable to restrain her keen anxiety to be instantly informed
upon this topic, Zuleika gasped out:
"Were you not, Esperance, as guilty as your former friend?"
The young man leaped to his feet as if a tarantula had bitten him.
"No, no!" cried he. "I was innocent of all blame in the matter! Luigi
Vampa----"
He abruptly checked himself and stood staring at his sister, as if in
dismay at having unguardedly uttered the brigand's name.
But Zuleika said nothing. Giovanni Massetti also had protested his
innocence, and the young girl knew not what to believe. Luigi Vampa? So
then he had been a party to this mysterious and terrible business,
whatever it was! And again she thought of the abduction of the beautiful
peasant girl. Could that be the fearful secret? Yes, it must be. Luigi
Vampa had assisted in that abduction, if report could be relied on, and
the chief criminal had been a youthful member of the Roman aristocracy.
Oh! it was all plain now. Zuleika shuddered and felt her heart grow
heavy as lead, while a sharp, killing pang ran through it. Had Esperance
been misled by Vampa and the Viscount? Had he discovered too late the
infamy of the affair and challenged Massetti on that account? This was,
doubtless, the solution of the whole enigma, and yet Zuleika hesitated
to accept it as such. No, no, she could not accept it without further
and more convincing proof! But how was that proof to be obtained?
Neither the Viscount nor her brother would speak; it was evident that
their lips were sealed; possibly an oath to maintain silence had been
extorted from them under terrible circumstances--an oath they feared to
break even to clear themselves from a foul suspicion. But Vampa? He
might, perhaps, be induced to give the key to the mystery. Vampa,
however, was far away in Rome and inaccessible. Zuleika made a wild
resolve--she would write to the brigand and throw herself upon his
generosity; then she decided that the plan was impracticable; her letter
would never reach Vampa--it would be seized by the Roman authorities and
might cause additional trouble by reviving a smothered scandal--and even
should it reach the brigand, would he answer it? The chances were a
hundred to one that he would not. At this instant an inspiration came to
the tortured girl like a flash of lightning. Her father had known Vampa
in the past, and, perhaps, still possessed some influence over him. She
had heard the story of Albert de Morcerf's adventure in the catacombs of
Saint Sebastian, and was aware that the brigand chief had released him
from captivity without ransom at her father's simple solicitation. Would
not Vampa answer her questions if M. Dantes could be influenced to write
him and ask them? She had full faith in her father's power to get a
letter to the bandit notwithstanding all the vigilance of the Roman
authorities. Yes, she would go to him, tell all her suspicions without
reserve and beg him to write the letter; it was hardly likely he would
refuse; he could not, he must not. Thus resolved, Zuleika looked her
brother full in the face and said, calmly:
"I see I torture you with my questions, Esperance, that for some reason
best known to yourself you cannot answer them, and that it is useless
to torment you further. But something must be done and that at once. I
am going to my father!"
Esperance caught her wildly by the arm.
"You are mad!" cried he.
"It is you who are mad--you and Giovanni! I tell you, I am going to my
father; if you are innocent, you have nothing to fear from any
revelation I may make!"
With these words she freed herself from her brother's grasp and quitted
the salon, leaving Esperance standing in the centre of the apartment as
if he were rooted to the spot.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CAPTAIN JOLIETTE'S LOVE.
In a small but cosy and elegant suite of apartments in a mansion on the
Rue des Capucines resided Mlle. Louise d'Armilly and her brother Leon;
as has already been stated, the celebrated cantatrice had retired from
the boards in consequence of having inherited a fortune of several
millions of francs from the estate of her deceased father, who, rumor
asserted, had been a very wealthy Parisian banker; Leon had abandoned
the stage simultaneously with his sister, who had invited him to share
her suddenly acquired riches, for, strange to say, the banker had not
bequeathed to him a single sou.
The immense inheritance had been a complete surprise to Mlle. d'Armilly,
and for some time she had hesitated to accept it, as a condition imposed
by the will was her immediate withdrawal from her operatic career, and
the prima donna was as ambitious as gifted; but, finally, she had
yielded to the persuasive eloquence of the notary and the earnest
entreaties of her friends, canceling all her engagements, and with them
abandoning her bright professional future.
The director of the Academie Royale demanded a large sum to release the
artiste from her contract with him, and this was paid by the notary with
an alacrity that seemed to suggest he was not acting solely according to
the directions of the will, but was influenced by some personage who
chose to remain in the background; the notary also paid all other
demands made by the various operatic managers who claimed they would
lose by Mlle. d'Armilly's failure to appear; these amounts were not
deducted from the legacy, a circumstance that gave additional color to
the supposition that the will of the deceased banker was not the sole
factor in the celebrated cantatrice's good luck.
One evening, shortly after Paris had again quieted down, Mlle. d'Armilly
was seated in the little apartment that served her as a salon, and with
her was her brother Leon. The contrast between the pair seemed
intensified in private life. Louise had that dark, imperious, majestic
beauty usually possessed by brunettes; her figure was full and finely
developed, her black eyes had the deep, intense fire of passion, and her
faultless countenance, glowing with health and loveliness, indicated at
once firmness, decision and caprices without number. Leon, on the
contrary, was delicate and feminine in appearance; he had exceedingly
small feet and hands, and a single glance at his strikingly handsome
face was sufficient to convince any experienced judge of human nature
that he possessed a mild and yielding disposition. The young man bore
not the remotest family likeness to his sister, and it was difficult to
realize that they could be in any way related.
Leon quitted his sister and, going to a piano that stood in one corner
of the apartment, softly opened it and commenced lightly running his
fingers over the keys; then he seated himself at the instrument and
played an air from "Lucrezia Borgia" with brilliancy and effect that
only a finished performer could attain. At the first notes Louise arose
and approaching the piano stood beside the player, her eyes sparkling
with appreciation and delight. So absorbed were the brother and sister
that they did not hear a soft knock at the door, and only at the
conclusion of the air did they realize that a visitor was in the
apartment. Leon sprang from the instrument in confusion, behaving like a
startled girl, but Mlle. d'Armilly, with perfect self-control, turned to
the new comer and said, in a tone of mingled coquetry and merriment:
"So, so, Captain Joliette, your military career has accustomed you to
surprising the enemy to such an extent that it has become second nature
with you, and you cannot avoid carrying your favorite tactics even into
private life!"
Captain Joliette, for it was, indeed, he, bowed and answered with a
smile:
"You must allow me solemnly to protest against classing yourself and
your brother with the enemy! You are, both of you, very dear friends!"
"Especially Louise!" said Leon, with a sly look and a pretty little
ringing laugh.
"Leon, Leon, when will you learn wisdom!" exclaimed Mlle. d'Armilly, a
blush mantling her visage, and adding to its voluptuous beauty.
"Never, I suppose!" returned her brother, still laughing. "But I am
already well acquainted with the value of discretion and, therefore,
will withdraw!"
As he uttered those words, Leon kissed the tips of his fingers to Louise
and Joliette, and lightly ran from the salon. When he had disappeared
the Captain folded Mlle. d'Armilly in his arms and kissed her tenderly
upon the forehead.
"Oh! Louise," said he, enthusiastically, "I love you more and more every
day!"
The former artiste gently disentangled herself from his embrace and,
smiling archly, led him to a chair; then she sat down upon another at a
short distance from him.
"No, no," said Joliette, warmly; "come and sit beside me on the sofa.
Even Leon sees that I adore you, and all my friends in Paris are aware
that I am seeking your hand in marriage. Why will you be so formal and
distant with me!"
She arose and did as he requested; Joliette, seated at her side, put his
arm about her waist. Louise did not resist, but still maintained an air
of coquetry that was displeasing to the ardent young soldier.
"Albert," she said, in a low, musical voice, "do you, indeed, love me as
you say?"
"Love you, Louise!" cried Joliette. "I would lay down my life for you!"
"Are you quite sure you love me for myself and not because of the
resemblance you say I bear to the woman you once so ardently admired?
What was her name?--ah! Eugenie Danglars!" said she, looking at him with
a piercing gaze.
"Quite sure, Louise, quite sure. Besides, Mlle. Danglars has
disappeared, has not been seen or heard of for several years, and, no
doubt, is dead."
"And yet you do not mourn for her! How strange!"
"I never loved her as I love you, Louise. Eugenie Danglars was a
capricious and eccentric girl, and had she lived would have been a
capricious and eccentric woman. It was well for me she vanished when she
did! But, by the way, another singular and inexplicable coincidence is
that Louise d'Armilly, the name you bear, was also the name of Mlle.
Danglars' music teacher. I cannot understand it at all!"
"There is no necessity for you to understand it. Anyhow, it is a
coincidence, as you say--nothing more."
"Well, Louise, let us speak no further about either the resemblance or
the coincidence. Suffice it that I love you, and you alone--that I love
you for yourself."
"Your words make me very happy, Albert," replied Mlle. d'Armilly, and
her full red lips looked so luscious, ripe and alluring, that Joliette
could not resist the temptation to bestow a long, burning kiss upon
them.
"Be my wife, then, dearest Louise," cried the Captain, "and I will