Monte-Cristo's Daughter
perspiration breaking out upon his forehead. "I assure you, Esperance, I
had no hand in this foul murder--I knew nothing of it! I did hear the
report of a pistol, but who discharged the weapon or at whom it was
fired I could not tell. Everything seemed like a disordered dream!"
As Esperance said not a word in reply, the Viscount continued:
"Again I assert my innocence of the dark crimes that have been committed
to-night! Do you not believe my protestation?"
"I know not what to believe," answered the young man. "But I will not
consider you guilty until you are proved so."
"Then," cried Giovanni, joyously, "I have a proposition to make to you.
Swear that you will be silent about everything that has occurred since
we met Annunziata Solara in the Piazza del Popolo, including the
terrible events of to-night, and I will start with you for Rome this
very instant!"
"And you will renounce your pursuit of the flower-girl?"
"I will renounce it!"
"Do you swear to do so?"
"I swear it!"
"Then, on my side, I here take the oath of silence you require!"
"You forgive me for having quarreled with you?"
"I forgive you!"
"Then let us leave this accursed spot without another moment's delay!"
"So be it!"
They hastily quitted the bank of the little stream and went to the cabin
to prepare for their immediate departure. As they passed the spot where
Lorenzo's body had lain, Esperance noticed with a start that it was no
longer there. They entered the cabin. It was dark and deserted.
Esperance lighted a candle and, as he did so, perceived a scrap of paper
upon the floor. He stooped mechanically and picked it up. It was rumpled
as if it had been crushed in the hand and cast away. The young man
straightened it out. It was a brief letter. He held it to the candle
and, with a sickening sensation at his heart, read as follows:
DEAREST ANNUNZIATA: All is prepared. We will fly to-night. Be
ready. TONIO.
The note was in Massetti's handwriting. Esperance silently passed it to
him. The Viscount read it with eyes bulging from their sockets, his
fingers trembling so he could scarcely hold the paper.
"The evidence is conclusive!" said Esperance, icily, as Massetti
finished reading. "It is a confession! You abducted Annunziata Solara!"
"What can I say to justify myself?" cried Giovanni, bitterly. "Oh! that
accursed oath!"
"And you have sworn me to silence, also, wretched man!" said Esperance.
"Why was I so weak!"
He looked scornfully at the Viscount, who stood with bowed head. Then he
added:
"I understand you now! You did not wish me to betray you, to set the
hounds of Justice on your track, to cause you to be punished, branded
and disgraced! You were shrewd and imposed upon me. But my oath is
sacred--I will keep it! Let us return to Rome at once as we originally
proposed. There I will challenge you in due form for an alleged insult,
and we will settle this matter at the pistol's mouth!"
In a few moments more they were on their road to the Eternal City,
leaving behind them the cabin into which they had brought ruin and
death!
CHAPTER X.
THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO.
Rome was agitated by a vague scandal, so vague, in fact, that nobody
seemed to know the precise details. It had arisen from a newspaper
account, given in the indefinite, unsatisfactory way characteristic of
Roman journalism. One of the city journals had published the statement
that a young and very handsome peasant girl, living with her father in
the country beyond the Trastavere, had recently been abducted, report
said, by a youthful member of the Roman aristocracy; that the reckless
scion of nobility had courted and won her in the guise of a peasant, had
carried her off to a bandit fastness and there had eventually deserted
her. No names were given. Inquiry at the office of the journal elicited
the fact that the proprietors had undoubted authority for the
publication of the statement, but no further information could be gained
from them. A few days later, however, the same newspaper gave the
further particulars that the nobleman had been assisted in effecting the
abduction by a young foreigner residing in Rome, and that the brother of
the unfortunate girl had been killed in attempting to rescue her. That
completed all the intelligence ever vouchsafed to the public in regard
to the mysterious affair, and thereafter the journal maintained an
unbroken silence respecting the matter. The rumor ran that its
proprietors had been bribed by interested parties to say nothing
further, but this rumor could not be traced to any reliable source and
was, therefore, by many considered a fabrication. No steps were taken by
the authorities in the premises, and it was evident that the affair was
to be allowed to die out. Still Roman society was considerably excited,
conjectures as to the identity of the guilty party and his accomplice
being rife in all the fashionable and aristocratic quarters of the city.
These conjectures, however, did not grow to positive statements, though
insidious hints were thrown out that those who guessed the Viscount
Giovanni Massetti to be the culprit were not far out of the way.
Massetti, it was known, had been absent from Rome for several days about
the period the abduction was supposed to have taken place, but he did
not deign to notice the hints current in regard to himself and no one
was hardy enough to question him. Nevertheless some color was given to
the rumors concerning him by the fact that, immediately on his return to
the city, after the absence above referred to, he became involved in a
violent quarrel with a young Frenchman, generally supposed to be
Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo, who at once challenged him to a
duel, but the duel was not fought for some reason not made public, the
difference between the two fiery youths having been arranged through the
mediation of mutual friends. It was observed, however, and widely
commented upon that, although the twain had previously been almost
inseparable companions, Esperance after this quarrel studiously avoided
the Viscount Massetti, refraining from even mentioning his name.
Meanwhile at Civita Vecchia another act in the drama of Annunziata
Solara's clouded life had been played. In that city was located a famous
asylum for unfortunate women, founded and managed by a French lady of
enormous wealth and corresponding benevolence, Madame Helena de
Rancogne, the Countess of Monte-Cristo.[6] This lady was untiring in her
efforts to reclaim and rehabilitate the fallen of her sex. She was the
Superior of the Order of Sisters of Refuge, the members of which were
scattered throughout Europe, but made their headquarters at the asylum
in Civita Vecchia, where a sufficient number of them constantly aided
Madame de Rancogne in carrying out her good and philanthropic work.
The Refuge, as the asylum was called, was a vast edifice of gray stone
with a sombre and cloister-like look. Over the huge entrance door on a
tablet of polished metal this sentence was incrusted in conspicuous
letters of black: "Be Not Led to Consider Any Unworthy!" It was an
utterance of the Countess of Monte-Cristo in the past and had been
adopted as the guiding rule and maxim of the Order of Sisters of Refuge.
The interior of the building in no way corresponded with its gloomy,
forbidding outside. Tall, wide windows freely admitted the ardent rays
of the glowing Italian sun, flooding the corridors and apartments with
cheerful light and warmth. Crimson hangings and magnificently wrought
tapestry of fabulous price adorned the walls, while costly and beautiful
statues and paintings, the work of old masters and contemporaneous
artists, added to the attractiveness of the numerous salons and
drawing-rooms. The great refectory and the dormitories possessed charms
of their own, bright colors everywhere greeting the eye and nothing
being allowed that could inspire or promote melancholy moods or painful
thoughts. There was an immense library, to which all the inmates of the
Refuge had free access. It was sumptuously furnished, and the floor was
covered with a gorgeous Turkey carpet, so thick and soft that footsteps
made no sound upon it, while the brilliant figures of tropical flowers
profusely studding it gave the impression of eternal summer. Desks
abundantly supplied with writing materials, tables loaded with the
latest newspapers and periodicals in all the languages of Europe,
luxurious sofas and inviting fauteuils allured those succored by the
Countess of Monte-Cristo and her vigilant aids. On every side the
library was surrounded with book-cases, containing absorbing romances,
volumes of travel, the productions of the celebrated poets, histories
and essays, with a liberal sprinkling of religious works, mostly
non-sectarian and invariably of a consolatory character. In addition
elegantly and thoroughly equipped work-rooms were provided, in which
those who were so inclined could practice embroidery, sew or manufacture
the thousand and one little fancy knick-knacks at which female fingers
are so skilful. Nothing, however, was compulsory, the main object being
to afford the inmates of the Refuge agreeable occupation, to elevate
them and to prevent them from looking back regretfully to the agitated
lives they had led and the vices that had held empire over them in the
past. Truly a more generous, unselfish lover of her sex than the noble
Countess of Monte-Cristo did not exist.
The protegees of the Sisters of the Order of Refuge embraced women of
all ages, all nationalities and all conditions in life. They included
Parisian grisettes and lorettes, recruited by Nini Moustache in her
coquettish apartment of the Chaussee d' Antin, for Nini had proved a
most effective missionary; young girls, who had fallen a prey to
designing roues and been abandoned to the whirl of that gulf of
destruction, the streets of Paris; Spanish senoritas, who had listened
too credulously to the false vows of faithless lovers; Italian peasant
girls, whose pretty faces and charms of person had been their ruin;
unfortunate German, English, Dutch and Scandinavian maidens; and even
brands snatched from the burning in Russia, Turkey and Greece. This
somewhat diverse community dwelt together in perfect sisterly accord,
chastened by their individual misfortunes, encouraged and upheld in the
path of reform by the Countess of Monte-Cristo, who was to all the
unfortunates as a tender, thoughtful and considerate mother.
One quiet night, just as darkness had settled down over the streets of
Civita Vecchia, a timid knock at the entrance door of the Refuge
aroused the portress on duty there. Such knocks were often heard and
well understood. The portress arose from her bench, partly opened the
door and admitted a trembling young girl, whose crouching and shrunken
form was clad in a mass of tattered rags. A thin red cloak was thrown
over her shoulders, and her pale, emaciated face spoke plainly of
poverty, hardship and suffering. Even Giovanni Massetti would have with
difficulty recognized in this wretched outcast the once shapely and
beautiful flower-girl of the Piazza del Popolo, for the applicant at the
Refuge door was no other than the ill-fated Annunziata Solara. Her
beauty had faded away like a summer dream, vanished as the perfume from
a withered hyacinth. She stood before the portress silently, with
clasped hands, the incarnation of misery, distress and desertion.
"What do you require, my poor child?" asked the portress, tenderly and
sympathetically.
"Shelter, only shelter!" replied the girl, beseechingly, in a hollow,
broken voice, the ghost of her former full and joyous tones.
"The Superior must decide upon your case," said the portress. "You shall