Monte-Cristo's Daughter
of beer beside them, glanced up quickly from their game as he came in,
and one of them, a heavy-framed, beetle-browed German, called out to
him, speaking French:
"How now, Bouche-de-Miel, what is the matter? You are out of breath and
as pale as if you had been shadowed by an Agent de la Surete!"
"I have not been shadowed, Waldmann," answered the beggar or
Bouche-de-Miel, "but I have made a startling discovery."
The players at once put down their cards and leaned forward to hear.
They were a rough, desperate-looking set; on their ill-omened and
sunburnt visages thief could be read as plainly as if it were written
there, and perhaps, also, the still more significant word, assassin! Two
of the men were Italians, evidently the Peppino and Beppo referred to by
the slatternly young woman at the counter in the outer room. Besides
Waldmann there was another German. This was Siebecker. Tall, slim, with
yellow hair and moustache, he had some claim to good looks; his attire
was quite respectable compared to that of the rest; had he not possessed
a pair of restless, demoniac eyes, he might have passed for a person of
tolerably fair repute, but those glaring, tiger-like orbs betrayed his
true character and stamped him as a very dangerous member of the
criminal fraternity. Waldmann appeared to be the leader of the coterie.
The Italians wore blue blouses, but the distinctive garment of the
Parisian workman could not conceal a certain brigandish air that was
second nature to them.
"Let's hear about your startling discovery, Bouche-de-Miel," said
Waldmann. "Take a seat and tell us."
The beggar dropped upon a wooden chest, saying, in a tone of deep
dejection, as he did so:
"Much as I long to take a hand in to-night's little job, I'm afraid
you'll have to let me off!"
"Stuff!" cried Waldmann. "You are afraid of meeting that terrible
fellow, the Count of Monte-Cristo! But the startling discovery--out with
it, man!"
"Yes; the discovery, the discovery!" demanded the others, impatiently.
"Well," said Bouche-de-Miel, "I went to the Rue du Helder this morning,
as agreed upon, and made a survey of Monte-Cristo's mansion. Nothing
easier than to get in, as no watch is kept at night, and the Count is
not in the least suspicious although he has millions of francs in his
safe, to say not a word of jewels and other valuables. As I was about
leaving the premises, I stopped at a little gate giving access to the
garden from the street, having noticed that the key had been carelessly
left in the lock on the outside. I was leaning against the gate, taking
a wax impression of this key, which would assure us entrance without
trouble, when, happening to glance through the grating into the garden,
I saw two women; they had noticed me and seemed greatly frightened.
Instantly I thrust my hand through the bars and asked for charity. One
of the women summoned up sufficient courage to arise and approach me;
she was about to give me some money, when suddenly she recognized me in
spite of all the changes in my appearance. I also recognized her and
hastened away as rapidly as I could."
"Well, what of all this?" said Waldmann, calmly. "It amounts to nothing
whatever."
"It amounts to so much that I cannot go with you to Monte-Cristo's house
and run the risk of meeting that woman!"
Waldmann gave vent to a loud laugh; the others smiled.
"I never before heard of a Frenchman who was afraid to meet a woman!"
said Siebecker, much amused.
"I tell you I cannot go; you must let me off," said Bouche-de-Miel,
obstinately.
"What!" cried Peppino. "Do you allow a woman to stand between you and
your vengeance against the Count of Monte-Cristo? Remember Luigi Vampa's
bill of fare!"
Bouche-de-Miel glared at the Italian savagely.
"There is no need for me to remember it," returned he, bitterly. "I have
never forgotten it. Neither have I forgotten your share in that infamous
business!" he added, between his teeth.
"It was my duty to do as I was bidden!" retorted Peppino.
"I will have my revenge on you yet!" muttered Bouche-de-Miel,
menacingly.
"We shall see!" answered the Italian, defiantly.
Waldmann interposed and said, sternly:
"No quarreling! We are brothers and are united for mutual gain.
Bouche-de-Miel, you must go with us to-night. I order you to go and will
take no excuse! Besides, if, as Peppino says, you have vengeance to
gratify against the Count of Monte-Cristo, the opportunity is too
precious for you to neglect it! At any rate, go you shall! Where is the
wax impression of the key?"
Bouche-de-Miel handed the German a small package which, he took from
his pocket. Waldmann gave it to Siebecker, directing him to fashion a
key in accordance with it. In the meantime the beggar had been thinking.
His face showed that a fierce struggle was taking place in his mind, a
struggle between fear and a burning desire for revenge. The latter
ultimately triumphed, and the beggar, rising from the chest, went to the
table, bringing his fist down upon it with a resounding blow.
"I will accompany you, mates!" he said, with wildly flashing eyes and in
an excited voice. "Monte-Cristo robbed me, ruined me and drove me into
the world a penniless vagrant! I will have my revenge!"
"Spoken like a hero!" said Waldmann, enthusiastically. "We will meet at
the little gate on the Rue du Helder at midnight. Siebecker will give
you the key, Bouche-de-Miel, and you will open the gate. You need not
fear recognition, even if you should meet the woman you have spoken of
face to face, for you will be masked like the rest of us. If you are
anxious about her safety, I will tell you now that we only want
Monte-Cristo's millions; we do not mean murder."
"But what if murder should be necessary, if it cannot be avoided?"
Waldmann shrugged his shoulders.
"Then we must protect ourselves," he answered, phlegmatically.
Thereupon the coterie of miscreants separated, to pass away the hours as
best they might, until the time for the brilliant stroke they meditated
arrived.
CHAPTER XII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
The Count of Monte-Cristo was in his study, pacing to and fro; he was
plunged in thought, and an expression indicative of deep concern was
upon his pale, but resolute countenance. Ever and anon he would pause in
front of a small table on which was a telegraphic outfit for the sending
and receiving of messages, listening with close attention to the sounds
given forth, for, although sound reading was not much practiced by the
telegraphers of that period, Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have all the
accomplishments of his own age and those of ages to come, was a
proficient at it, as well as a remarkably rapid and correct operator.
It was nearly midnight. The entire family in the mansion of the Rue du
Helder had retired to rest, with the exception of its head, who had
remained up in response to a summons from Berlin to be ready to receive
the details of a secret meeting of a vast society of Prussian patriots,
which would be sent to him in cipher by one of his most enthusiastic and
active agents for the promotion of the cause of universal human liberty.
The intense heat that had prevailed all day had been but slightly
moderated by the advent of a close, sultry night; there was not the
faintest breeze in the heavy, oppressive air, and the blue sky, full of
stars and flooded with brilliant moonlight, was without a cloud. The
silvery brightness poured in through the open windows of the study, so
illuminating the apartment that the Count had extinguished his lamp.
Fantastic shadows were projected on the floor by the book-cases and
various articles of furniture, looking like gigantic and dwarfed shapes
of demons and elfs and lending the scene a weird, supernatural aspect.
Monte-Cristo walked amid these distorted shadows like some master
magician communing with the dark, mysterious spirits that received his
commands in silence and then vanished to execute them without question
or debate.
The Count's thoughts were of a sombre nature; he was pondering over the
problem of French freedom, wondering how long the volatile, changeful
nation with which he had cast his lot would retain the liberty acquired
by the revolution that had overturned Louis Philippe's throne and given
the people power. He distrusted the events of the near future. Already
the Bonapartists were active and Louis Napoleon was looming up as a
formidable figure. The nephew of the great conqueror of Europe professed
republican sentiments, but Monte-Cristo doubted his sincerity as well as
his ability to govern the restless population of Paris. He foresaw
imitation of the famous Emperor; his prophetic eye pierced through Louis
Napoleon's presidential aspirations and saw beyond them a second Empire
not less brilliant but not more substantial than the first. The policy
of the Bonapartes was to dazzle the masses, the men of the barricades,
by a show of grandeur and amuse rather than force them into submission.
The Count had held aloof from Louis Napoleon, had even opposed him to
the full extent of his mighty influence; he had done so not from any
personal considerations, but for the good of the entire French people,
for the preservation intact of the fabric of freedom, the fruit of the
revolution of 1848.
Meanwhile, as these thoughts coursed through Monte-Cristo's active
brain, the telegraphic instrument went ticking steadily on, but the
information he expected was not conveyed. News flashed to him from every
centre of political agitation save Berlin; there an obstinate, ominous
silence prevailed. Several times he sought to open communication with
his confederate in the Prussian capital, but his signals were
unanswered. At last he paused wearily in his walk, throwing himself in a
huge arm-chair; fatigue weighed upon his eyelids and he speedily sank
into an uneasy, broken sleep, from which he started at intervals,
disturbed by some vague, disquieting dream. Ever and anon, as he dozed,
that smile that made him so handsome would steal over his manly
countenance, bringing out into bold relief all his wonderful nobility
and benevolence of expression.
As midnight struck in every clock-tower in Paris, the usual solitude of
the Rue du Helder at that dead hour was broken by the appearance of a
sinister figure at the little gate of Monte-Cristo's garden. This figure
was almost instantly followed by another hardly less forbidding. Both
wore masks and moved as stealthily as cats. The second figure addressed
the first, speaking in a cautious whisper:
"Bouche-de-Miel, is that you?"
"Yes. Siebecker, have you the key?" muttered the other, scarcely above
his breath.
"Here it is, old man. Now to work. The others will be on hand in a
moment. Open the gate and let us get in."
Bouche-de-Miel took the key, which was covered with oil to prevent
grating, and inserted it in the lock. It fitted to a charm and turned
noiselessly. Bouche-de-Miel gave the gate a gentle push; it yielded,
swinging open without a sound. The two men passed inside, partially
closing it after them. The moonlight fell upon the seat that Zuleika and
Mlle. d' Armilly had occupied beneath the honey-suckle-covered arbor
that morning; Bouche-de-Miel gave a sudden start as he glanced at it,
half-repenting of having yielded to Waldmann's command under the impulse
of his hatred for Monte-Cristo and his desire for revenge; he trembled
violently in spite of all his efforts to maintain composure and his face
became one mass of sweat beneath his protecting mask. Siebecker noticed
his agitation and gave vent to a smothered curse.
"Sacre nom d' un chien!" he muttered, between his teeth, "if you go on
like that, old man, it would have been better had Waldmann let you off.