The Count of Monte Cristo
other profession than your own—a physician, for instance. Do you know I
always felt a shudder at the idea of even a _destroying_ angel?”
“Dear, good Renée,” whispered Villefort, as he gazed with unutterable
tenderness on the lovely speaker.
“Let us hope, my child,” cried the marquis, “that M. de Villefort may
prove the moral and political physician of this province; if so, he
will have achieved a noble work.”
“And one which will go far to efface the recollection of his father’s
conduct,” added the incorrigible marquise.
“Madame,” replied Villefort, with a mournful smile, “I have already had
the honor to observe that my father has—at least, I hope so—abjured his
past errors, and that he is, at the present moment, a firm and zealous
friend to religion and order—a better royalist, possibly, than his son;
for he has to atone for past dereliction, while I have no other impulse
than warm, decided preference and conviction.” Having made this
well-turned speech, Villefort looked carefully around to mark the
effect of his oratory, much as he would have done had he been
addressing the bench in open court.
“Do you know, my dear Villefort,” cried the Comte de Salvieux, “that is
exactly what I myself said the other day at the Tuileries, when
questioned by his majesty’s principal chamberlain touching the
singularity of an alliance between the son of a Girondin and the
daughter of an officer of the Duc de Condé; and I assure you he seemed
fully to comprehend that this mode of reconciling political differences
was based upon sound and excellent principles. Then the king, who,
without our suspecting it, had overheard our conversation, interrupted
us by saying, ‘Villefort’—observe that the king did not pronounce the
word Noirtier, but, on the contrary, placed considerable emphasis on
that of Villefort—‘Villefort,’ said his majesty, ‘is a young man of
great judgment and discretion, who will be sure to make a figure in his
profession; I like him much, and it gave me great pleasure to hear that
he was about to become the son-in-law of the Marquis and Marquise de
Saint-Méran. I should myself have recommended the match, had not the
noble marquis anticipated my wishes by requesting my consent to it.’”
“Is it possible the king could have condescended so far as to express
himself so favorably of me?” asked the enraptured Villefort.
“I give you his very words; and if the marquis chooses to be candid, he
will confess that they perfectly agree with what his majesty said to
him, when he went six months ago to consult him upon the subject of
your espousing his daughter.”
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“That is true,” answered the marquis.
“How much do I owe this gracious prince! What is there I would not do
to evince my earnest gratitude!”
“That is right,” cried the marquise. “I love to see you thus. Now,
then, were a conspirator to fall into your hands, he would be most
welcome.”
“For my part, dear mother,” interposed Renée, “I trust your wishes will
not prosper, and that Providence will only permit petty offenders, poor
debtors, and miserable cheats to fall into M. de Villefort’s
hands,—then I shall be contented.”
“Just the same as though you prayed that a physician might only be
called upon to prescribe for headaches, measles, and the stings of
wasps, or any other slight affection of the epidermis. If you wish to
see me the king’s attorney, you must desire for me some of those
violent and dangerous diseases from the cure of which so much honor
redounds to the physician.”
At this moment, and as though the utterance of Villefort’s wish had
sufficed to effect its accomplishment, a servant entered the room, and
whispered a few words in his ear. Villefort immediately rose from table
and quitted the room upon the plea of urgent business; he soon,
however, returned, his whole face beaming with delight. Renée regarded
him with fond affection; and certainly his handsome features, lit up as
they then were with more than usual fire and animation, seemed formed
to excite the innocent admiration with which she gazed on her graceful
and intelligent lover.
“You were wishing just now,” said Villefort, addressing her, “that I
were a doctor instead of a lawyer. Well, I at least resemble the
disciples of Esculapius in one thing [people spoke in this style in
1815], that of not being able to call a day my own, not even that of my
betrothal.”
“And wherefore were you called away just now?” asked Mademoiselle de
Saint-Méran, with an air of deep interest.
“For a very serious matter, which bids fair to make work for the
executioner.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Renée, turning pale.
“Is it possible?” burst simultaneously from all who were near enough to
the magistrate to hear his words.
“Why, if my information prove correct, a sort of Bonapartist conspiracy
has just been discovered.”
“Can I believe my ears?” cried the marquise.
“I will read you the letter containing the accusation, at least,” said
Villefort:
“‘The king’s attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and the
religious institutions of his country, that one named Edmond Dantès,
mate of the ship _Pharaon_, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having
touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been the bearer of a letter
from Murat to the usurper, and again taken charge of another letter
from the usurper to the Bonapartist club in Paris. Ample corroboration
of this statement may be obtained by arresting the above-mentioned
Edmond Dantès, who either carries the letter for Paris about with him,
or has it at his father’s abode. Should it not be found in the
possession of father or son, then it will assuredly be discovered in
the cabin belonging to the said Dantès on board the _Pharaon_.’”
“But,” said Renée, “this letter, which, after all, is but an anonymous
scrawl, is not even addressed to you, but to the king’s attorney.”
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“True; but that gentleman being absent, his secretary, by his orders,
opened his letters; thinking this one of importance, he sent for me,
but not finding me, took upon himself to give the necessary orders for
arresting the accused party.”
“Then the guilty person is absolutely in custody?” said the marquise.
“Nay, dear mother, say the accused person. You know we cannot yet
pronounce him guilty.”
“He is in safe custody,” answered Villefort; “and rely upon it, if the
letter is found, he will not be likely to be trusted abroad again,
unless he goes forth under the especial protection of the headsman.”
“And where is the unfortunate being?” asked Renée.
“He is at my house.”
“Come, come, my friend,” interrupted the marquise, “do not neglect your
duty to linger with us. You are the king’s servant, and must go
wherever that service calls you.”
“Oh, Villefort!” cried Renée, clasping her hands, and looking towards
her lover with piteous earnestness, “be merciful on this the day of our
betrothal.”
The young man passed round to the side of the table where the fair
pleader sat, and leaning over her chair said tenderly:
“To give you pleasure, my sweet Renée, I promise to show all the lenity
in my power; but if the charges brought against this Bonapartist hero
prove correct, why, then, you really must give me leave to order his
head to be cut off.”
Renée shuddered at the word _cut_, for the growth in question had a
head.
“Never mind that foolish girl, Villefort,” said the marquise. “She will
soon get over these things.” So saying, Madame de Saint-Méran extended
her dry bony hand to Villefort, who, while imprinting a son-in-law’s
respectful salute on it, looked at Renée, as much as to say, “I must
try and fancy ’tis your dear hand I kiss, as it should have been.”
“These are mournful auspices to accompany a betrothal,” sighed poor
Renée.
“Upon my word, child!” exclaimed the angry marquise, “your folly
exceeds all bounds. I should be glad to know what connection there can
possibly be between your sickly sentimentality and the affairs of the
state!”
“Oh, mother!” murmured Renée.
“Nay, madame, I pray you pardon this little traitor. I promise you that
to make up for her want of loyalty, I will be most inflexibly severe;”
then casting an expressive glance at his betrothed, which seemed to
say, “Fear not, for your dear sake my justice shall be tempered with
mercy,” and receiving a sweet and approving smile in return, Villefort
departed with paradise in his heart.
Chapter 7. The Examination
No sooner had Villefort left the salon, than he assumed the grave air
of a man who holds the balance of life and death in his hands. Now, in
spite of the nobility of his countenance, the command of which, like a
finished actor, he had carefully studied before the glass, it was by no
means easy for him to assume an air of judicial severity. Except the
recollection of the line of politics his father had adopted, and which
might interfere, unless he acted with the greatest prudence, with his
own career, Gérard de Villefort was as happy as a man could be. Already
rich, he held a high official situation, though only twenty-seven. He
was about to marry a young and charming woman, whom he loved, not
passionately, but reasonably, as became a deputy attorney of the king;
and besides her personal attractions, which were very great,
Mademoiselle de Saint-Méran’s family possessed considerable political
influence, which they would, of course, exert in his favor. The dowry
of his wife amounted to fifty thousand crowns, and he had, besides, the
prospect of seeing her fortune increased to half a million at her
father’s death. These considerations naturally gave Villefort a feeling
of such complete felicity that his mind was fairly dazzled in its
contemplation.
At the door he met the commissary of police, who was waiting for him.
The sight of this officer recalled Villefort from the third heaven to
earth; he composed his face, as we have before described, and said, “I
have read the letter, sir, and you have acted rightly in arresting this
man; now inform me what you have discovered concerning him and the
conspiracy.”
“We know nothing as yet of the conspiracy, monsieur; all the papers
found have been sealed up and placed on your desk. The prisoner himself
is named Edmond Dantès, mate on board the three-master the _Pharaon_,
trading in cotton with Alexandria and Smyrna, and belonging to Morrel &
Son, of Marseilles.”
“Before he entered the merchant service, had he ever served in the
marines?”
“Oh, no, monsieur, he is very young.”
“How old?”
“Nineteen or twenty at the most.”
At this moment, and as Villefort had arrived at the corner of the Rue
des Conseils, a man, who seemed to have been waiting for him,
approached; it was M. Morrel.
“Ah, M. de Villefort,” cried he, “I am delighted to see you. Some of
your people have committed the strangest mistake—they have just
arrested Edmond Dantès, mate of my vessel.”
“I know it, monsieur,” replied Villefort, “and I am now going to
examine him.”
“Oh,” said Morrel, carried away by his friendship, “you do not know
him, and I do. He is the most estimable, the most trustworthy creature
in the world, and I will venture to say, there is not a better seaman
in all the merchant service. Oh, M. de Villefort, I beseech your
indulgence for him.”
Villefort, as we have seen, belonged to the aristocratic party at
Marseilles, Morrel to the plebeian; the first was a royalist, the other
suspected of Bonapartism. Villefort looked disdainfully at Morrel, and
replied coldly:
“You are aware, monsieur, that a man may be estimable and trustworthy
in private life, and the best seaman in the merchant service, and yet
be, politically speaking, a great criminal. Is it not true?”
The magistrate laid emphasis on these words, as if he wished to apply