Monte-Cristo's Daughter
go to her at once."
The woman touched a bell, directing the Sister of the Order of Refuge
who answered it to conduct the applicant to the apartment of Madame de
Rancogne. The trembling Annunziata was led through a long corridor and
ushered into a small, but cosy office in which sat an elderly lady of
commanding and aristocratic presence, whose head was covered with curls
of silver hair, and whose still handsome countenance wore an expressive
look in which compassion and benevolence predominated. This lady was the
celebrated Madame Helena de Rancogne, whose adventures and exploits as
the Countess of Monte-Cristo had in the past electrified every European
nation. She arose as Annunziata entered, welcoming her with a cordial,
comforting smile.
"Sit down, my child," she said, in a rich, melodious voice. "You are
fatigued. Are you also hungry?"
Annunziata sank into the chair offered her, covering her face with her
thin hands.
"Alas! signora," she replied, faintly, "I have walked many weary miles
and have not tasted a morsel of food since dawn!"
"Take the poor child to the refectory," said the Countess to the Sister,
who had remained standing near the door. "After her hunger has been
appeased, I will see her again and question her."
Half an hour later, Annunziata, refreshed and strengthened by her meal,
once more sat in the office with the Countess of Monte-Cristo.
"My child," said the latter, "what is your name?"
"Annunziata Solara."
"You have applied for shelter here the portress informs me. Do you know
that this is an asylum for the fallen of your sex?"
"I know it, signora; that is the reason I came."
"Have you repented of your sin and do you desire to lead a better life?"
"I have repented bitterly," answered the girl, bursting into a flood of
tears, "oh! how bitterly God alone knows! I wish to hide myself from the
world; I wish to atone for my shame by whatever good action my hands can
find to do."
"It is well," said the Countess, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.
"The field is wide, and the Order of Sisters of Refuge, although large,
is always open for new additions. Much good has already been done, but
more remains to be accomplished, infinitely more. You shall be received
and given an opportunity to share in the great work."
"From the depths of my soul I thank you!" sobbed the girl. "I will try
earnestly to be worthy of your benevolence!"
"Tell me your story now," said the Superior. "I cannot believe that the
guilt was altogether yours."
"I am grateful, signora, for those words. I was thoughtless and
indiscreet, but not criminal. Happy and contented in my humble peasant
home, I was pure and innocent. I knew nothing of the wickedness of men,
of the snares set to entrap unwary young girls. I lived with my father
and brother in the vicinity of Rome, selling flowers in that city from
time to time. I had never had a suitor, never had a lover. My heart was
free, filled with the joyousness of youth. I had been told that I
possessed a fair share of beauty, but that neither made me vain nor
inclined me to coquetry. Oh! signora, I shall never be so happy again!"
Emotion overcame her and her tears started afresh. The Countess soothed
her and she continued:
"One fatal night, my brother brought two strange young men to our
cabin. They appeared to be peasants like ourselves, and one of them had
been wounded in a fight with a brigand. They remained with us for some
days. I nursed the wounded man, who, when he grew convalescent, made
love to me. I listened to his ardent declarations, submitted to his
endearments. I grew to love him in my turn, and, oh! signora, I believed
in him, trusted him. At that period I had nothing to reproach myself
with, and Tonio, that was my admirer's name, seemed sincerity itself.
One day he asked me to fly with him, but our conversation was
interrupted and I gave him no answer. I was confused, I did not know
what to do. That evening I received a letter from him--I found it on the
table in the room I occupied, concealed beneath my work-box--telling me
that everything was prepared for our flight that night, and asking me to
be in readiness. I was terrified. I could not understand why he wished
me to fly with him if everything was as it should be, as my father and
brother would not have objected to any proper suitor for my hand on whom
I had bestowed my heart. For the first time I was suspicious of Tonio,
and I resolved to pay no attention to his letter. On the morrow I would
see him and tell him to speak to my father and brother. Alas! that
opportunity was not given me. Oh! that horrible, horrible night!"
She covered her face with her hands and shuddered. When she looked up
she was ghastly pale, and her voice quivered as she resumed:
"That dreadful night, as I lay upon my bed, wrapped in slumber, I was
suddenly aroused by hearing some one in my chamber. It was very dark and
I could not see the intruder. I started up in terror, but a hand was
placed firmly over my mouth. I was torn from my bed and borne in a man's
arms from the cabin. I struggled to release myself, but in vain. My
abductor appeared to possess the strength of a giant. There was no moon,
but in the dim starlight I could see that the man was masked. He
hastened with me into the neighboring forest. There he accidentally
struck his right arm against the trunk of a tree and his hand dropped
from my mouth. Instantly I uttered a loud, piercing cry, but the hand
went back to its place again almost immediately, and I was unable to
give vent to another sound. My cry, however, had been heard by my
brother, who hastened to my assistance. He overtook my abductor in the
forest, and, though unarmed, at once attacked him. The man dropped me
and turned upon my brother. A fierce struggle ensued, during which the
mask was struck from my abductor's face and, to my horror, I thought I
recognized Tonio. Suddenly there was a report of a pistol. I had watched
the conflict, unable to move. I saw my brother stagger; blood was
gushing from him. I could endure no more; I fell to the ground in a
swoon.
"When I recovered my senses, I was in a strange hut. Savage looking men,
whom I took to be bandits, were guarding me. How long I remained in the
hut I do not know, but it must have been several days. At times a
masked man came to me, telling me that he was Tonio and pressing his
suit upon me. I refused to listen to him, upbraiding him for tearing me
from my home and wounding my brother. I told him his conduct was not
that of a lover, but of a villain. I implored him, if he possessed a
spark of manhood, to set me free, to send me to my father. He informed
me that I was his captive and should so remain until I yielded to his
wishes. I repulsed him with scorn, with the energy of desperation.
Ultimately he overpowered me by sheer force, and compelled me to yield.
Then I saw him no more. I wandered about the hut like one demented. My
cup of sorrow was full to overflowing. I was in despair. Shame and
degradation were henceforth my portion.
"After my abductor's departure, a new comer appeared among the brigands.
He seemed to be their chief. He expressed pity for me, and told me that
my abductor was not a peasant, but a young Roman nobleman, the Viscount
Giovanni Massetti. I cared nothing for this revelation. I had no thought
of vengeance; my sole desire was to hide myself from the gaze of the
world, to avoid the pitiless finger of scorn. Eventually the bandit
chief took me back to my home. There I found my father, learning from
his lips that my brother was dead. This intelligence made my sorrow
utterly unbearable. My father was moody and morose. For days at a time
he did not speak to me. He appeared to have lost all paternal affection.
Finally I left the cabin. I had heard of the Refuge and determined to
seek its shelter. I walked to Civita Vecchia, and to-night found myself
at your door. Such, signora, is my sad history. I have told you the
whole truth. You see I am not altogether to blame."
As Annunziata concluded, the Countess of Monte-Cristo drew her upon her
bosom.
"My poor girl," said she, in tender, pitying tones, "you have, indeed,
tasted the bitterness of life and have been more sinned against than
sinning. But you are my daughter now. The Sisterhood of the Order of
Refuge has covered you with its protecting shield."
FOOTNOTE:
[6] For a full account of the life and career of "The Countess of
Monte-Cristo," see that powerful, romantic and absorbing novel, "The
Countess of Monte-Cristo," published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers,
Philadelphia.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BEGGAR AND HIS MATES.
A year had elapsed since the events already recorded. Zuleika, having
finished her studies at the convent school of the Sisterhood of the
Sacred Heart, the Count of Monte-Cristo had quitted Rome and, with his
family, was established in Paris in the palatial mansion, No. 27 Rue du
Helder, formerly occupied by the Count de Morcerf. He was a member of
the Chamber of Deputies, representing Marseilles, and was wedded to his
first love, Mercedes, who had mysteriously reappeared and nursed him
through a severe illness, which was immediately followed by their
marriage. The revolution of 1848, which had placed M. Lamartine at the
head of the Provisional Government, had put power and office within his
grasp, but he had declined both, preferring to work in the wider field
of universal human freedom. His eminent services during the revolution
had rendered him immensely popular with the masses, and the fame of his
matchless eloquence added to the vast influence he so modestly wielded.
His colossal wealth, which he lavishly used to promote the great cause
he championed, also tended to make him a conspicuous figure in the
political and high social circles of the capital, though he strove to
court retirement.
Zuleika and Esperance fairly adored their mild, kindly stepmother, who,
on her side, was as devotedly attached to them as if they had been her
own children. The Count noted this mutual attachment, which time only
served to strengthen, and it filled his heart with joy and
gratification. The family was, indeed, a happy one, and even the
servants shared the general felicity.
Mlle. d' Armilly's influence over Captain Joliette great as it
undoubtedly was, had been insufficient to induce that gallant and
honorable young soldier to seek a rupture with the wonderful man to whom
he was so vastly indebted and whom he so highly revered. This had at
first caused a coldness between the revengeful prima donna and her
admirer, but a reconciliation had ultimately taken place between them
and they were now man and wife. Prior to their marriage Mlle. d' Armilly
had acknowledged herself to be Eugenie Danglars, and thus the motive of
her bitter hostility to the Count of Monte-Cristo was revealed. She had
retired from the operatic stage, and had received a large sum of money,
stated to be a legacy from her father, but generally believed to be a
gift from the Count, intended by him in some degree to make amends to
her for the sufferings she had endured by reason of his vengeance on the
banker Danglars. The prima donna's brother Leon had turned out to be a
woman masquerading in male attire, no other than Mlle. d' Armilly
herself, Eugenie's former music-teacher, who had loaned her name to her
friend when the latter started on her operatic career. These
transformations had been immediately followed by another, Captain
Joliette discarding his pseudonym and appearing as Albert de Morcerf.
Paris had talked over and wondered at all this for a week, and then had
completely forgotten it, turning its fickle attention to newer and more
engrossing sensations. Albert's marriage and the legacy healed the