Monte-Cristo's Daughter
branded with an assassin's dark crime he must forever resign all hope of
possessing his beloved Zuleika, must abandon her to die of a broken
heart! Perhaps, too, he would be seized, tried, condemned and meet a
felon's fate upon the ignominious scaffold! True, Roman justice might be
silenced with money, but he was a disowned and disinherited son, a
penniless outcast! These thoughts brought him to a realization of the
black depths of the yawning gulf into which he was about to plunge and
made him hesitate. But a quick idea came to his relief--if he were to
fight a duel with old Solara and kill him thus the Roman law would not
pursue him, he would not be stamped with a murderer's crime! He would do
it, he would fight him! Springing to his feet, he drew a second pistol,
and, casting it upon the ground beside his astonished foe, said to him,
speaking slowly and impressively:
"Pasquale Solara, I will give you a chance for your life! Rise, take
that pistol and face me! We will fight!"
The shepherd arose with some difficulty; he was considerably bruised and
had, besides, seriously strained one of his legs. Taking up the weapon,
he cocked it and without a word, but with a look of demoniac ferocity
and triumph upon his evil countenance, assumed a position about twenty
paces distant from his opponent. Instantly both raised their pistols and
fired. When the light smoke cleared away it became evident that neither
of them had been hit. Old Solara cast his empty weapon from him with a
curse and, producing a pair of long, keen-bladed knives, threw one of
them towards the Viscount.
"You challenged me and I accepted!" he said, in a harsh tone. "Now I
challenge you! Take that knife and fight me!"
Massetti hesitated, with a look of horror upon his countenance. A duel
with knives! It was barbarous! It was worthy of the red savages of the
American wilds!
"Take the knife, I say!" thundered old Solara. "Take it and face me, or
by the canopy of heaven I will show you less mercy than you have been
weak enough to show me! I will stab you to the heart where you stand!"
He advanced with his murderous weapon in his outstretched hand, having
previously rolled up his sleeve and bared his brown, sinewy arm.
Massetti stooped and took up the knife from where it lay. He also bared
his arm, nervously grasping the hilt of the weapon.
Pasquale Solara's eyes gleamed like those of a tiger seen through the
darkness of a Hindoostan jungle. They had a terrible, a bloodthirsty
gleam. The shepherd now felt sure of his ground. With a pistol he was
nothing, with a knife he was a power! Giovanni could not cope with him;
he would fall an easy victim to his skill and cunning!
The Viscount watched the old scoundrel with feverish anxiety, fully
realizing what was passing through his mind. That Pasquale would
vanquish him, kill him, he could not doubt, for he knew no more about
fighting with a knife than an infant in its cradle. However, his courage
did not desert him, and he resolved to sell his life as dearly as
possible.
Seeing Giovanni take the knife and prepare for the combat, Solara bent
partially forward and rushed upon him. The long, keen blades met with a
flash of fire. The young Italian confined himself to acting upon the
defensive, the utmost activity and watchfulness being required on his
part to parry and ward off his opponent's skilful and incessant thrusts.
The shepherd fought with the bewildering rapidity of the lightning's
flash and seemed to be in a thousand different places at once so swiftly
did he advance, retreat and spring aside. His excitement made him forget
his hurts.
At length Massetti's arm became so strained and fatigued that it was
impossible for him to hold out much longer. His hand was tightly
clutched about the haft of his knife, but it was so benumbed that he
could not feel the weapon. Still with the energy and resolution of
despair he continued the unequal conflict, hoping against hope that some
unexpected turn of affairs might give him the advantage.
Meanwhile old Solara, fiendishly confident, was steadily and surely
closing upon him, narrowing the limit of his retreat after each blow.
Finally he retreated no more, but began pressing his adversary backwards
towards the chestnut grove, the while delivering blow after blow. Then
he suddenly gave his wrist a dextrous twirl and Giovanni's knife was
torn from his grasp, falling about ten feet away. Instantly the young
man was forced to the ground and old Pasquale stood over him with his
legs wide apart, firmly planted to give the death-dealing thrust. As
Massetti lay his eye caught the glimmer of his own knife beyond the
shepherd and slipping like a serpent between Solara's legs he seized it,
sprang to his feet and, before Pasquale could recover from his surprise
at this unlooked-for manoeuvre, buried the glittering blade in his
breast. Solara reeled and fell upon the grass, where he lay bathed in
blood.
"You have escaped me, Viscount Massetti!" he groaned.
Young Massetti could scarcely realize what had happened, what he had
done, so miraculous did the result of this strange duel appear to his
bewildered mind.
As he stood like one in a dream he heard a sound as of many feet.
Hastily dashing into the chestnut grove, he looked back and saw old
Solara surrounded by a group of Luigi Vampa's men.
CHAPTER XXV.
A VISIT TO THE REFUGE.
Among the details of the Count of Monte-Cristo's plan for the
rehabilitation of Giovanni Massetti was a visit to Annunziata Solara at
the Refuge in Civita Vecchia. This visit he made one morning in company
with Zuleika and M. and Mme. Morrel. Madame de Rancogne was delighted to
see the Count and cordially welcomed him and his party.
"So this handsome young lady is your daughter, Edmond," she said,
seating herself beside Zuleika and taking her hand. "How rapidly time
flies. To-day we are in the midst of the enjoyment of youth and
to-morrow we are the middle-aged people of our locality. Then in another
brief space we are the aged, after which comes death!"
Zuleika blushed at Helena's compliment to herself and looked at her
curiously while she delivered the closing part of her speech. But the
Countess of Monte-Cristo of the past was not of a sombre nature, and,
smiling, she added:
"The most dazzling and enchanting side to the picture of youth is love!
Has Zuleika, Count, ever experienced the tender passion? It will be
exceedingly strange if she has not."
Monte-Cristo's daughter blushed again.
The Count smiled as he replied:
"Yes, Helena, Zuleika has experienced the crowning passion of life. She
is betrothed to the Viscount Giovanni Massetti of Rome."
"What!" exclaimed Mme. de Rancogne, stricken with amazement and horror.
"That Giovanni Massetti who has been disowned and disinherited by his
father for the commission of one of the vilest and most dishonorable
crimes known to the world?"
"The same!" answered Monte-Cristo, calmly.
Mme. de Rancogne was now more astounded than ever.
"You know this man's record and yet you allow him to win your daughter!
Count, this is not like you! I cannot understand it!"
"Helena," returned Monte-Cristo, "this poor young man has been maligned,
falsely accused by persons inimical to him."
The Superior of the Order of Sisters of Refuge slowly but firmly shook
her head, looking the while at the Count and his daughter with an
expression of deep sympathy and compassion upon her noble countenance.
"You have been deceived, imposed upon, Edmond," she rejoined. "There can
be no doubt whatever as to the young man's terrible and damning guilt.
Besides, my assertion admits of immediate verification and proof.
Massetti's unfortunate victim, the beautiful peasant girl Annunziata
Solara, is now an inmate of this institution whither she dragged herself
when overcome by shame and suffering of the keenest description,
seeking to find here an asylum and a cloister where prying eyes could
not find her out and where the venomous tongue of scandal could not tear
open her wounds and set them to bleeding afresh. She is a member of our
Order, has devoted the rest of her days to the achievement of good
actions and the raising up of the fallen and betrayed of her sex.
Annunziata Solara is here, almost within sound of my voice, and will,
though with reluctance I am convinced, confirm every word I have uttered
relative to her cowardly and villainous abductor!"
"To hold an interview with this unfortunate creature is what has brought
me here with Zuleika and my friends the Morrels," said the Count. "Of
course, I wished to see you, Helena, and enjoy once again the pleasure
of your society," he added, his agreeable smile accompanying his words.
The Superior bowed gracefully and arose.
"I can understand then your anxiety to see and speak with Annunziata at
the earliest possible moment. Therefore, I will immediately summon her
to this apartment where the desired interview can take place without
delay."
As she uttered these words Mme. de Rancogne hastened from the salon,
shortly afterwards returning with the former flower-girl of the Piazza
del Popolo in Rome.
Annunziata stood for an instant in the centre of the apartment, gazing
inquiringly at the visitors, for Mme. de Rancogne had not informed her
of their business, preferring that Monte-Cristo in his wisdom and
experience should conduct the interview and develop his wishes in his
own peculiar fashion.
The Count and Maximilian gazed at old Pasquale Solara's daughter with
considerable interest, but it was an interest altogether masculine.
Valentine also looked at her attentively, with that searching,
penetrating look one woman invariably casts upon another. As for
Zuleika, her eyes literally devoured the peasant girl, flashing with
what was not exactly hatred for a rival but rather an instinctive fear
and distrust. She was well aware that Giovanni had flirted with this
girl, had been enthralled by her physical charms, had almost yielded to
her sway, and she felt a peculiar interest in the creature who had
temporarily at least stolen the heart of her lover from her.
Annunziata had been greatly benefited by her sojourn in the calm and
quiet Refuge. She had by a great and heroic exercise of her strength of
mind put aside from her all thoughts of her lamentable history, of her
suddenly clouded and terrible past. She had thoroughly abandoned herself
to the discipline and duties of the Sisters of the Order of Refuge, and
had sought with more or less success even to forget herself. Her
unruffled life, passed in the continual doing of good, filled her with
peacefulness and satisfaction, and for the first time in a long while
she fully realized what it was to be perfectly contented and happy. In
consequence her physical condition had improved, promptly responding to
her mental ease. She had recovered the beauty she had lost during her
confinement in the bandits' hut and her subsequent wanderings as a
homeless, starving outcast. Her plumpness had also returned, and her
glance had all the brightness and gayety that had formerly distinguished
it. Still a general refinement had taken possession of her, and
Annunziata was no longer the child of nature she had been when she lived
in the romantic cabin in the forest.
Madame de Rancogne was the first to speak.
"Sister Annunziata," she said, "here are his Excellency the Count of
Monte-Cristo, Zuleika his daughter, and M. and Mme. Morrel. Allow me to
make you acquainted with them and to assure you that they are true
friends of mine, firmly to be relied on. They wish to interrogate you in
regard to a certain matter. You can answer their questions without fear
and without the slightest hesitation. The Count of Monte-Cristo is the
very soul of chivalry and honor!"