Monte-Cristo's Daughter
indication that the reward his employer had promised him would not be
earned.
Presently Waldmann and Siebecker were called to another part of the
room. Bouche-de-Miel remained, continuing to smoke his cigarette, with
his elbows on the counter where he had placed them after the
health-drinking. The Captain's thoughts were of a conflicting nature.
Everything pointed to the fact that the man before him was his
father-in-law, but, unlike Mlle. d' Armilly, he saw nothing in him
suggestive of the Baron Danglars of other days. Could this vagabond,
this wretch, be Danglars? If so, how was it to be proved to his
satisfaction? How, above all, in this place, in this den of thieves and
cutthroats? The man was certainly the party Eugenie had recognized on
the night of the attempted burglary as her father, the party
Monte-Cristo himself had so positively pronounced to be the former
banker. But was it not probable that his wife and the Count had been
mistaken? Was it not probable that they had been deceived by some
fancied resemblance when excitement had possessed them to such a degree
that it had deprived them of the full use of their mental faculties? At
any rate he had come to the caboulot to experiment with Bouche-de-Miel
and he would not shrink from cautiously applying the test.
Their cigarettes were now consumed. Albert, in pursuance of his scheme,
invited Bouche-de-Miel and Mange to take seats at a table and have some
more brandy. They accepted the invitation with alacrity, and the three
were soon drinking and chatting. Repeated potations finally opened
Bouche-de-Miel's lips; he began to be confidential.
"You may not believe me, messieurs," said he, "but I was not always as
you see me now!"
Mange winked triumphantly at his employer. Revelations which might be
important were coming. Perhaps he would yet earn the promised reward.
Morcerf was listening attentively.
"No, sacre nom d' un chien, I was not always a zigue! Once I had immense
wealth, I counted my money by millions! I had position, too, and I may
say without egotism that I was honored by the best people of Paris!"
He paused and drained another glass of brandy.
"What were you?" asked Mange.
Albert waited breathlessly for the answer to this question.
"What was I?" repeated Bouche-de-Miel. "You may laugh, but I was a
banker!"
Morcerf could not avoid giving a start. The vagabond, half-drunk as he
was, noticed it and asked:
"What is the matter with you, Fouquier? Do you think the lie so
tremendous that you can't keep still?"
The young man was glad to accept this interpretation of his behavior; he
touched his glass to his lips and said, with a forced smile:
"Well, I do think you are going it rather strong!"
"Not half strong enough, mon Dieu!" cried Bouche-de-Miel, bringing his
fist down on the table with such force that the glasses were nearly
knocked off. "Not half strong enough, I tell you, messieurs, for I was
a Baron as well as a banker!"
Albert groaned. Mange looked at him with sparkling eyes; he was now sure
that the promised money was within his reach, that his clutch would soon
close on it. His enforced sobriety since he had been in the Captain's
employ made him anxious for a prolonged, reckless spree, frightfully
anxious, and his guarded potations since he entered the caboulot had
whetted his devouring appetite for alcohol to such an extent that he
could scarcely keep it in subjection with the plentiful supply of brandy
on the table, almost at his very lips.
Bouche-de-Miel did not hear Morcerf's groan; his misty eyes were fixed
upon space, seemed to be peering into the depths and recesses of the
distant past. The Captain judged that the time had come to draw the
final, the crowning admission from his lips. He touched him lightly on
the arm. The man turned and glanced at him inquiringly. Morcerf's heart
beat wildly; it was with great difficulty that he kept his agitation
under control. He hurriedly scanned the other occupants of the
room--some were very drunk and stupid, others noisy and demonstrative,
but all were too busy with their own concerns and pleasures to pay even
the slightest attention to the little party at the table; Waldmann and
Siebecker were asleep on opposite ends of a bench in a corner.
Bouche-de-Miel had meanwhile relapsed into his misty reverie. Albert
touched his arm again.
"Don't bother me!" said the man, impatiently, without removing his eyes
from space. "Can't you let a fellow dream!"
"Baron Danglars!" whispered Morcerf in his ear.
"Eh? What?" cried Bouche-de-Miel, coming back to reality with a start,
half-sobered by hearing this name.
"Baron Danglars," repeated the Captain, in a guarded undertone, "I know
you!"
The man got upon his feet lumberingly and unsteadily; he clutched
Albert's shoulder convulsively.
"You are an Agent de la Surete!" he hissed. "You have come here to
arrest me!"
The attention of some of the less intoxicated ruffians was being excited
by Bouche-de-Miel's behavior, but their ears had failed to seize his
words amid the prevailing din. Mange, with his usual keenness and
quickness, saw that something must instantly be done to quiet Albert's
companion or all the miscreants who could stir would be aroused and come
thronging about them to throttle the supposed Agent de la Surete. He,
therefore, gave a loud laugh and said to Bouche-de-Miel:
"Don't be a fool, old man! Monsieur Fouquier belong to la rousse! That's
a good joke! ha! ha! Why he is as much in danger of the violon as you
are! ha! ha!"
He arose, still laughing, and, playfully taking Bouche-de-Miel by the
collar, gently forced him back into his chair. As he did so, he glanced
at Beurre-Sans-Sel. The slatternly young woman had her hand on the screw
of the huge lamp suspended above the counter, by which alone the room
was lighted, ready to turn it out and leave the whole place in darkness
at the first alarm. She was evidently accustomed to police descents and
knew how to act in such cases. Mange's words and merriment, however,
reassured her and she withdrew her fingers from the screw.
But Bouche-de-Miel was not altogether satisfied. He sat uneasily in his
chair, facing Morcerf and anxiously scanning his countenance.
"What did you mean by calling me Baron Danglars and saying that you knew
me?" he asked, in a low, somewhat tremulous voice.
Instead of replying directly to this question, the young man said,
slowly and in a half-whisper:
"I am Albert de Morcerf, the husband of your daughter Eugenie!"
"What!" exclaimed Bouche-de-Miel. "Eugenie married--and to you!"
"Yes," said the Captain, "Fate has again brought us together after a
long and painful separation."
"I saw Eugenie in the house of the Count of Monte-Cristo, no matter how,
no matter when. What was she doing there?"
"Monte-Cristo is married to my mother, Mercedes, and we are living with
him."
"Living with him--Eugenie, my daughter, living beneath the roof of the
man who ruined her father and made him what he is!"
Bouche-de-Miel grew absolutely livid with rage; he was entirely sobered
now and all his evil instincts had full possession of him.
"I will never forgive her--or you!" he hissed.
"Listen to me," said Albert, with comparative calmness. "I have come
here to-night at the risk of my life to offer you money, the means of
rehabilitation. Be advised. Leave these miscreants with whom you are
associated and become a man again!"
"I reject both your offer and advice!" said Bouche-de-Miel, excitedly.
"They are insults, coming as they do from the stepson of Monte-Cristo,
my relentless enemy! But I will have vengeance upon you for them and
through you on Edmond Dantes! Ho, Waldmann Siebecker!"
The two Germans awoke, sprang from their bench and advanced towards the
table.
Mange uttered a groan of despair. He could do nothing now to avert the
impending danger.
Bouche-de-Miel had leaped to his feet and grappled with Albert de
Morcerf. Waldmann and Siebecker, realizing that something was wrong and
at once connecting the alleged Monsieur Fouquier with it, drew long,
keen-bladed knives as they rushed forward.
All the thieves and marauders who were sober enough to stand were now on
their feet, ready to hurl themselves upon the suspected man. Weapons
flashed in every direction--daggers, knives and pistols. Loud oaths and
abusive epithets were heard on all sides; it was a perfect pandemonium,
a babel of evil sounds.
Amid all the confusion and danger Mange's self-possession did not desert
him. Seeing that it was useless to attempt to pacify the surging pack of
desperadoes, he determined upon a bold measure, one that would enable
him to save Captain de Morcerf and, at the same time, keep up his
reputation with the criminal frequenters of the caboulot, with whom he
desired for reasons of his own to be on good terms. He ran to the
counter, where Beurre-Sans-Sel already had her hand on the screw of the
hanging lamp, waiting for events to decide what action she should take.
He leaned over the counter and whispered to the girl:
"Beurre-Sans-Sel, I was deceived in Monsieur Fouquier. He imposed upon
me. He told me he was from Dijon. He turns out to be a Parisian and an
Agent de la Surete. He has betrayed himself. More Agents are coming!
They will be here in a moment! Put off the light!"
The girl did not hesitate a second; she gave the screw a quick twist and
the caboulot was instantly as dark as a tomb.
Having executed this manoeuvre, Mange sprang to Albert de Morcerf's
side, striking Bouche-de-Miel a crushing blow in the face that caused
him to lose his grip of the young man. Then, seizing his employer in his
brawny arms, he lifted him as if he had been a child and ran with him to
the front door; this he opened, leaping into the street with his burden.
"Now run for your life!" he exclaimed, depositing the young man on the
sidewalk.
With this he started off at a tearing pace, closely followed by Morcerf.
They did not pause until they had reached the Rue de Provence, where, in
the blaze of the lights, amid the throngs of honest citizens, they were
safe.
CHAPTER XIV.
ZULEIKA AND MME. MORREL.
Quite a long time had elapsed since the sudden departure of the Viscount
Massetti from Paris, but Zuleika was still in complete ignorance as to
his whereabouts and actions. He was in Rome, of that she had not the
slightest doubt. She was equally convinced that his errand there was to
establish his innocence of the terrible crime imputed to him by Luigi
Vampa, to obtain proofs that would clear him in the eves of her father
and herself, if not of all the world. Why, therefore, did he not write,
why did he not give her some sign that she would understand? His silence
discouraged the young girl, filled her with uneasiness. It seemed to
indicate that he had not succeeded, had not been able to wipe the stain
from his record. If so she would never see him again, for Giovanni was
too proud to reappear in her presence with a dishonored name, a sullied
reputation. This thought was torture, and Monte-Cristo's daughter felt
that should her lover desert her she could not live.
As the days rolled by without a word of intelligence from the Viscount,
Zuleika's fears assumed greater consistency and weight. She grew sad,
inexpressibly sad; her look lost its brightness, her voice its cheery
tone and her step its elasticity. The bloom faded from her youthful
cheeks, giving place to an ashen pallor. She was no longer interested in
her accustomed occupations and amusements, and would sit for hours
together with her hands crossed in her lap, dominated by sorrowful and
dismal forebodings.
Mercedes noticed her condition, and, ascribing it to its proper cause,
strove in a motherly way to rouse and console her, but without effect.