Edmond Dantès
prolong your happiness until death shall strike me down!"
"Ah! Albert, men are so fickle; they become infatuated with women and
declare and, no doubt think, they could pass their lives at their
charmers' feet; but possession dulls the lustre of the brightest jewel,
and the devoted lover is speedily replaced by a careless, if not
faithless husband, who, instead of making his wife happy as he has sworn
to do, forsakes her side to bask in the smiles of sirens."
"It will never be so with me, my own, my love!" protested Joliette,
kissing her again and again. "I swear it."
"I know the value of a lover's oath, Albert," murmured Louise, with a
meaning look. "When I was the brightest operatic star of the day many of
them were breathed in my ear, but they were 'trifles light as air,'
forgotten as soon as uttered. Besides, should I consent to become your
wife, you would be forced to leave me in France and return to Africa in
obedience to the call of duty; the lovely women of Algeria are prodigal
of their beauties and endearments, and under the spell of some subtle
Arab enchantress you would either forget poor Louise d'Armilly
altogether, or remember her only as a clog upon your pleasures and
amorous delights."
"Nay, nay, you wrong me; among all the dusky sirens of Algeria there
exists not one who could make me forget you for a single instant; they
are brazen, shameless women, who love with a recklessness and boldness
that can only disgust a Frenchman."
"But they can dazzle even a Frenchman, render him delirious with passion
and, ere he is aware, weave a web around him through which he cannot
break. My heart tells me you are as susceptible to feminine wiles as the
rest of your countrymen, and that, perhaps, you have already had
half-a-dozen love-affairs in Algeria."
"Oh! Louise, Louise, it grieves me to the soul that you can thus doubt
me. Give me a chance to prove my love and you shall be more than
satisfied that I can be loyal and true."
Mlle. d'Armilly gazed at him with a singular expression on her dark
beautiful countenance; it thrilled him to the very marrow of his bones,
and caused his arm that was about her waist to tremble violently; at
that moment the former cantatrice resembled Eugenie Danglars more than
ever; her breath, was hot and convulsive as it struck his cheek, and a
faint suspicion that all was not right--that she was playing a role with
him, shot across his mind for the first time; with this suspicion came
jealousy, and, releasing her waist, he said, in a gasping tone:
"You have another lover, Louise, a lover you prefer to me--am I not
right?"
Mlle. d'Armilly laughed a short, nervous laugh, and answered in a voice
that seemed to mock him:
"I have had hosts of ardent admirers in my time. Do you refer
particularly to any individual?"
"I know not; I am beside myself with passion for you, and the mere fancy
that another man may have the first place in your heart is unbearable to
me! But there is one conclusive way in which you can prove my
suspicion--my jealousy--groundless; marry me!"
"Albert," replied Louise, with a renewal of the singular expression of
countenance that had so agitated him, "I shall never marry any one; I
cannot--I dare not!"
The young man was startled as if by an electric shock; he drew back and
gazed at her with wide-opened eyes, speechless from astonishment.
After a brief pause, Mlle. d'Armilly continued, in a dry, hard tone:
"You do not understand me and I cannot expect you to, for I can neither
tell you my motives nor lay bare my sad history to you; you must be
content with my decision--I shall not marry!"
Captain Joliette, strong man as he was, could not control his emotion;
he buried his face in his hands and groaned aloud. The young woman gazed
at him half pityingly, half triumphantly; she felt compassion for her
stricken lover, but, above all, gloried in the overwhelming power of her
charms that could so subdue a manly, victorious young soldier and make
him her helpless slave.
"Is there then no shadow of a hope?" at length asked Joliette, in a
hoarse whisper.
"Not the shadow of a hope!" replied Mlle. d'Armilly, firmly. "You can be
my friend, my brother, if you will, but never my husband."
The young man recoiled in horror at the suggestion that seemed to be
conveyed by this permission.
"What do you mean by friend?" he asked, a cold shiver passing through
him.
Louise laughed a short, nervous laugh, and, looking him full in the
eyes, replied:
"You know what I mean. I love you better than any man I ever met, save
one."
Captain Joliette slowly arose to his feet and stood staring at her, his
passion and his scruples waging a bitter battle within him for the
mastery. The temptress half reclined on the sofa, a miracle of seductive
grace and voluptuous beauty. He moved toward her as if to seize her in
his arms; then, suddenly checking himself, he asked, with a convulsive
gasp:
"And that man--that one?"
"Was separated from me forever through the vile machinations of that
mysterious and cold-blooded fiend, the Count of Monte-Cristo!"
"The Count of Monte-Cristo?" exclaimed the young man, lost in amazement.
"Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo, who afterwards disappeared from Paris
and has not since been heard of."
"You mistake; the Count of Monte-Cristo is in Paris now; he calls
himself Edmond Dantes and is the celebrated Deputy from Marseilles over
whom everybody has gone wild for some time past."
Mlle. d'Armilly's eyes flashed with fury.
"Then I will have my revenge upon him at last!" she cried. "I will amply
repay him for introducing the so-called Prince Cavalcanti into my
father's house and thus breaking off the match between Albert and
myself."
"Albert?"
"Yes; Albert de Morcerf."
"Now, Eugenie Danglars, I know you and it is useless for you to attempt
the denial of your identity longer!"
The young woman leaped up from the sofa, with terror pictured upon her
visage, and, seizing Captain Joliette by the arm with a powerful grasp,
cried out:
"And how, pray, do you know I am Eugenie Danglars?"
"You unwittingly betrayed yourself by revealing the names of
Monte-Cristo and Cavalcanti. Besides, Eugenie, look at me well--I am
Albert de Morcerf!"
With a wild cry the retired prima donna sank back upon the sofa.
"You Albert de Morcerf!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe it!"
"But my mother, the former Countess de Morcerf, who is now the wife of
Edmond Dantes, will vouch for my identity."
The young woman passed her hand across her forehead as if dazed.
"If you are Albert de Morcerf, you must despise me after what has taken
place this evening," she said, bitterly.
"Despise you? No, I pity and forgive you."
"Albert," said she, softly, "come here and sit beside me on this sofa; I
have something to say to you."
The soldier obeyed; when he was seated, he said:
"Eugenie, why did you tell me I could be your friend?"
"Simply because I have long suspected your secret and wished to
ascertain the real nature of your feelings toward me. You not only
resisted a terrible temptation, the most terrible temptation to which a
young, ardent and passion-smitten man can be exposed, but by your honor
conclusively established the purity and sincerity of your love. Oh!
Albert, Albert, are you satisfied with my explanation and do you still
think me worthy of you?"
"My own Eugenie, my happiness is far too great for words!" murmured the
delighted young man, gathering his beautiful companion in a warm embrace
and repeatedly kissing her ripe lips and blushing cheeks.
It was soon known throughout Paris that Captain Joliette and Albert de
Morcerf were identical, and that Mlle. d'Armilly was in reality no other
than Mlle. Eugenie Danglars, daughter of Baron Danglars, the once famous
and opulent Parisian banker; the report also was current that Albert and
Eugenie were engaged and would shortly be united in the bonds of
matrimony. Another bit of gossip was to the effect that the former
cantatrice's brother Leon was not a man but a woman; in short, the real
Louise d'Armilly, who had loaned her name to Eugenie Danglars and
assumed male attire solely for professional purposes. This story was
speedily confirmed, for Leon soon vanished and in his place appeared a
most attractive and fascinating lady, who very quietly assumed, or
rather resumed, the name of Louise d'Armilly. Still another rumor was
that the wealth so strangely inherited by the former prima donna was not
a legacy at all, but a gift from the mysterious Count of Monte-Cristo,
who had thus striven to make amends to the daughter for the misfortunes
he had, while pursuing his scheme of wholesale vengeance, so
remorselessly heaped upon the head of the father.
CHAPTER XXIX.
ZULEIKA GOES TO M. DANTES.
M. Dantes was sitting alone in his library, busily engaged in reading a
favorite work on the subject of political economy, and from time to time
making copious notes. It was after midnight, and the vast mansion on the
Rue du Helder was as silent as the tomb; the lamp on the Deputy's table
burned brightly, but a large metallic shade concentrated the light and
reflected it upon the table, so that the other portions of the apartment
were shrouded in almost complete darkness.
As M. Dantes read a shadow suddenly fell on the page of his book, and
quickly looking up he saw his daughter Zuleika standing beside him;
tears were in her eyes and a look of melancholy rested upon her
countenance.
"Why child," said her father, in a startled tone, "what is the matter
with you? You are weeping and seem very sad. Has anything happened to
young Massetti?"
"Not that I am aware of, papa," answered Zuleika, in a low voice. "But,
nevertheless, it is of him I wish to speak."
M. Dantes pushed his book from him, motioned his daughter to a seat and
prepared to listen as she did not begin at once, but seemed to
hesitate, he said, kindly:
"I am waiting, little one; proceed."
Thus encouraged, Zuleika summoned up all her strength and, with downcast
eyes, commenced:
"Papa," said she, "in the first place let me assure you that this is no
mere lovers' quarrel, but a matter of the utmost importance that demands
immediate action."
M. Dantes knitted his brows.
"Has the Viscount been guilty of any impropriety toward you?" he asked,
fiercely.
"No, papa, not toward me, but I fear he may have been guilty of
impropriety, or, at least, of indiscretion, with regard to another in
the past."
"A woman, no doubt."
"Yes, papa, a woman--a Roman peasant."
"I heard of some such thing while you were at the convent school in
Rome, but dismissed it as a slander."
"There may, however, be some truth in it."
"But, now I recollect, Giovanni's name was not associated with the
scandal; it was a mere inference on my part that connected him with the
youthful member of the Roman aristocracy mentioned by the gossips."
"Perhaps I am unjust, papa, in reviving your suspicions, but Giovanni's
strange behavior when I asked him the cause of his quarrel with
Esperance and of the continued coldness between them, forced me to think
there was something wrong."
"His quarrel with Esperance? Ah! now I remember, there was a quarrel,
but I imagined it was settled, and that their relations were altogether
friendly."
"They are enemies, papa, or seem to be, and that is not all--Esperance
accuses Giovanni of having been guilty of some infamous deed."
"You have spoken to Esperance then on the subject?"
"Yes, papa."
"And what did he say?"
"He dealt in vague denunciations, and positively refused to give me any
definite information."
"That is singular."
"But what is still more so is that both Giovanni and Esperance seem