The Count of Monte Cristo
its passage through perfumed water. Her attitude, though perfectly
natural for an Eastern woman would, in a European, have been deemed too
full of coquettish straining after effect.
Her dress, which was that of the women of Epirus, consisted of a pair
of white satin trousers, embroidered with pink roses, displaying feet
so exquisitely formed and so delicately fair, that they might well have
been taken for Parian marble, had not the eye been undeceived by their
movements as they constantly shifted in and out of a pair of little
slippers with upturned toes, beautifully ornamented with gold and
pearls. She wore a blue and white-striped vest, with long open sleeves,
trimmed with silver loops and buttons of pearls, and a sort of bodice,
which, closing only from the centre to the waist, exhibited the whole
of the ivory throat and upper part of the bosom; it was fastened with
three magnificent diamond clasps. The junction of the bodice and
drawers was entirely concealed by one of the many-colored scarves,
whose brilliant hues and rich silken fringe have rendered them so
precious in the eyes of Parisian belles.
Tilted on one side of her head she had a small cap of gold-colored
silk, embroidered with pearls; while on the other a purple rose mingled
its glowing colors with the luxuriant masses of her hair, of which the
blackness was so intense that it was tinged with blue.
The extreme beauty of the countenance, that shone forth in loveliness
that mocked the vain attempts of dress to augment it, was peculiarly
and purely Grecian; there were the large, dark, melting eyes, the
finely formed nose, the coral lips, and pearly teeth, that belonged to
her race and country.
And, to complete the whole, Haydée was in the very springtide and
fulness of youthful charms—she had not yet numbered more than nineteen
or twenty summers.
Monte Cristo summoned the Greek attendant, and bade her inquire whether
it would be agreeable to her mistress to receive his visit. Haydée’s
only reply was to direct her servant by a sign to withdraw the
tapestried curtain that hung before the door of her boudoir, the
framework of the opening thus made serving as a sort of border to the
graceful tableau presented by the young girl’s picturesque attitude and
appearance.
As Monte Cristo approached, she leaned upon the elbow of the arm that
held the narghile, and extending to him her other hand, said, with a
smile of captivating sweetness, in the sonorous language spoken by the
women of Athens and Sparta:
“Why demand permission ere you enter? Are you no longer my master, or
have I ceased to be your slave?”
Monte Cristo returned her smile.
“Haydée,” said he, “you well know.”
“Why do you address me so coldly—so distantly?” asked the young Greek.
“Have I by any means displeased you? Oh, if so, punish me as you will;
but do not—do not speak to me in tones and manner so formal and
constrained.”
“Haydée,” replied the count, “you know that you are now in France, and
are free.”
“Free to do what?” asked the young girl.
“Free to leave me.”
“Leave you? Why should I leave you?”
“That is not for me to say; but we are now about to mix in society—to
visit and be visited.”
“I don’t wish to see anybody but you.”
“And should you see one whom you could prefer, I would not be so
unjust——”
“I have never seen anyone I preferred to you, and I have never loved
anyone but you and my father.”
“My poor child,” replied Monte Cristo, “that is merely because your
father and myself are the only men who have ever talked to you.”
“I don’t want anybody else to talk to me. My father said I was his
‘joy’—you style me your ‘love,’—and both of you have called me ‘my
child.’”
“Do you remember your father, Haydée?”
The young Greek smiled.
“He is here, and here,” said she, touching her eyes and her heart.
“And where am I?” inquired Monte Cristo laughingly.
“You?” cried she, with tones of thrilling tenderness, “you are
everywhere!” Monte Cristo took the delicate hand of the young girl in
his, and was about to raise it to his lips, when the simple child of
nature hastily withdrew it, and presented her cheek.
“You now understand, Haydée,” said the count, “that from this moment
you are absolutely free; that here you exercise unlimited sway, and are
at liberty to lay aside or continue the costume of your country, as it
may suit your inclination. Within this mansion you are absolute
mistress of your actions, and may go abroad or remain in your
apartments as may seem most agreeable to you. A carriage waits your
orders, and Ali and Myrtho will accompany you whithersoever you desire
to go. There is but one favor I would entreat of you.”
“Speak.”
“Guard carefully the secret of your birth. Make no allusion to the
past; nor upon any occasion be induced to pronounce the names of your
illustrious father or ill-fated mother.”
“I have already told you, my lord, that I shall see no one.”
“It is possible, Haydée, that so perfect a seclusion, though
conformable with the habits and customs of the East, may not be
practicable in Paris. Endeavor, then, to accustom yourself to our
manner of living in these northern climes as you did to those of Rome,
Florence, Milan, and Madrid; it may be useful to you one of these days,
whether you remain here or return to the East.”
The young girl raised her tearful eyes towards Monte Cristo as she said
with touching earnestness, “Whether _we_ return to the East, you mean
to say, my lord, do you not?”
“My child,” returned Monte Cristo “you know full well that whenever we
part, it will be no fault or wish of mine; the tree forsakes not the
flower—the flower falls from the tree.”
“My lord,” replied Haydée, “I never will leave you, for I am sure I
could not exist without you.”
“My poor girl, in ten years I shall be old, and you will be still
young.”
“My father had a long white beard, but I loved him; he was sixty years
old, but to me he was handsomer than all the fine youths I saw.”
“Then tell me, Haydée, do you believe you shall be able to accustom
yourself to our present mode of life?”
“Shall I see you?”
“Every day.”
“Then what do you fear, my lord?”
“You might find it dull.”
“No, my lord. In the morning, I shall rejoice in the prospect of your
coming, and in the evening dwell with delight on the happiness I have
enjoyed in your presence; then too, when alone, I can call forth mighty
pictures of the past, see vast horizons bounded only by the towering
mountains of Pindus and Olympus. Oh, believe me, that when three great
passions, such as sorrow, love, and gratitude fill the heart, _ennui_
can find no place.”
“You are a worthy daughter of Epirus, Haydée, and your charming and
poetical ideas prove well your descent from that race of goddesses who
claim your country as their birthplace. Depend on my care to see that
your youth is not blighted, or suffered to pass away in ungenial
solitude; and of this be well assured, that if you love me as a father,
I love you as a child.”
“You are wrong, my lord. The love I have for you is very different from
the love I had for my father. My father died, but I did not die. If you
were to die, I should die too.”
The count, with a smile of profound tenderness, extended his hand, and
she carried it to her lips.
Monte Cristo, thus attuned to the interview he proposed to hold with
Morrel and his family, departed, murmuring as he went these lines of
Pindar, “Youth is a flower of which love is the fruit; happy is he who,
after having watched its silent growth, is permitted to gather and call
it his own.” The carriage was prepared according to orders, and
stepping lightly into it, the count drove off at his usual rapid pace.
Chapter 50. The Morrel Family
In a very few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay. The
house was of white stone, and in a small court before it were two small
beds full of beautiful flowers. In the concierge that opened the gate
the count recognized Cocles; but as he had but one eye, and that eye
had become somewhat dim in the course of nine years, Cocles did not
recognize the count.
The carriages that drove up to the door were compelled to turn, to
avoid a fountain that played in a basin of rockwork,—an ornament that
had excited the jealousy of the whole quarter, and had gained for the
place the appellation of _The Little Versailles_. It is needless to add
that there were gold and silver fish in the basin. The house, with
kitchens and cellars below, had above the ground floor, two stories and
attics. The whole of the property, consisting of an immense workshop,
two pavilions at the bottom of the garden, and the garden itself, had
been purchased by Emmanuel, who had seen at a glance that he could make
of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved the house and half the
garden, and building a wall between the garden and the workshops, had
let them upon lease with the pavilions at the bottom of the garden. So
that for a trifling sum he was as well lodged, and as perfectly shut
out from observation, as the inhabitants of the finest mansion in the
Faubourg St. Germain.
The breakfast-room was finished in oak; the salon in mahogany, and the
furnishings were of blue velvet; the bedroom was in citronwood and
green damask. There was a study for Emmanuel, who never studied, and a
music-room for Julie, who never played. The whole of the second story
was set apart for Maximilian; it was precisely similar to his sister’s
apartments, except that for the breakfast-parlor he had a
billiard-room, where he received his friends. He was superintending the
grooming of his horse, and smoking his cigar at the entrance of the
garden, when the count’s carriage stopped at the gate.
Cocles opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box, inquired
whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and Monsieur Maximilian Morrel
would see his excellency the Count of Monte Cristo.
“The Count of Monte Cristo?” cried Morrel, throwing away his cigar and
hastening to the carriage; “I should think we would see him. Ah, a
thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten your promise.”
And the young officer shook the count’s hand so warmly, that Monte
Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of his joy, and he saw
that he had been expected with impatience, and was received with
pleasure.
“Come, come,” said Maximilian, “I will serve as your guide; such a man
as you are ought not to be introduced by a servant. My sister is in the
garden plucking the dead roses; my brother is reading his two papers,
_la Presse_ and _les Débats_, within six steps of her; for wherever you
see Madame Herbault, you have only to look within a circle of four
yards and you will find M. Emmanuel, and ‘reciprocally,’ as they say at
the Polytechnic School.”
At the sound of their steps a young woman of twenty to five-and-twenty,
dressed in a silk morning gown, and busily engaged in plucking the dead
leaves off a noisette rose-tree, raised her head. This was Julie, who
had become, as the clerk of the house of Thomson & French had
predicted, Madame Emmanuel Herbault. She uttered a cry of surprise at
the sight of a stranger, and Maximilian began to laugh.
“Don’t disturb yourself, Julie,” said he. “The count has only been two
or three days in Paris, but he already knows what a fashionable woman
of the Marais is, and if he does not, you will show him.”
“Ah, monsieur,” returned Julie, “it is treason in my brother to bring
you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor sister. Penelon,
Penelon!”
An old man, who was digging busily at one of the beds, stuck his spade
in the earth, and approached, cap in hand, striving to conceal a quid
of tobacco he had just thrust into his cheek. A few locks of gray