The Count of Monte Cristo
standing, clinging to a window. My mother tried to force the door, that
she might go and die with him, but it was fastened on the inside. All
around him were lying the Palikares, writhing in convulsive agonies,
while two or three who were only slightly wounded were trying to escape
by springing from the windows. At this crisis the whole flooring
suddenly gave way, my father fell on one knee, and at the same moment
twenty hands were thrust forth, armed with sabres, pistols, and
poniards—twenty blows were instantaneously directed against one man,
and my father disappeared in a whirlwind of fire and smoke kindled by
these demons, and which seemed like hell itself opening beneath his
feet. I felt myself fall to the ground, my mother had fainted.”
Haydée’s arms fell by her side, and she uttered a deep groan, at the
same time looking towards the count as if to ask if he were satisfied
with her obedience to his commands.
Monte Cristo arose and approached her, took her hand, and said to her
in Romaic:
“Calm yourself, my dear child, and take courage in remembering that
there is a God who will punish traitors.”
“It is a frightful story, count,” said Albert, terrified at the
paleness of Haydée’s countenance, “and I reproach myself now for having
been so cruel and thoughtless in my request.”
“Oh, it is nothing,” said Monte Cristo. Then, patting the young girl on
the head, he continued, “Haydée is very courageous, and she sometimes
even finds consolation in the recital of her misfortunes.”
“Because, my lord,” said Haydée eagerly, “my miseries recall to me the
remembrance of your goodness.”
Albert looked at her with curiosity, for she had not yet related what
he most desired to know,—how she had become the slave of the count.
Haydée saw at a glance the same expression pervading the countenances
of her two auditors; she continued:
“When my mother recovered her senses we were before the seraskier.
‘Kill,’ said she, ‘but spare the honor of the widow of Ali.’—‘It is not
to me to whom you must address yourself,’ said Kourchid.
“‘To whom, then?’—‘To your new master.’
“‘Who and where is he?’—‘He is here.’
“And Kourchid pointed out one who had more than any contributed to the
death of my father,” said Haydée, in a tone of chastened anger.
“Then,” said Albert, “you became the property of this man?”
40080m
“No,” replied Haydée, “he did not dare to keep us, so we were sold to
some slave-merchants who were going to Constantinople. We traversed
Greece, and arrived half dead at the imperial gates. They were
surrounded by a crowd of people, who opened a way for us to pass, when
suddenly my mother, having looked closely at an object which was
attracting their attention, uttered a piercing cry and fell to the
ground, pointing as she did so to a head which was placed over the
gates, and beneath which were inscribed these words:
‘_This is the head of Ali Tepelini, Pasha of Yanina._’
“I cried bitterly, and tried to raise my mother from the earth, but she
was dead! I was taken to the slave-market, and was purchased by a rich
Armenian. He caused me to be instructed, gave me masters, and when I
was thirteen years of age he sold me to the Sultan Mahmoud.”
“Of whom I bought her,” said Monte Cristo, “as I told you, Albert, with
the emerald which formed a match to the one I had made into a box for
the purpose of holding my hashish pills.”
“Oh, you are good, you are great, my lord!” said Haydée, kissing the
count’s hand, “and I am very fortunate in belonging to such a master!”
Albert remained quite bewildered with all that he had seen and heard.
“Come, finish your cup of coffee,” said Monte Cristo; “the history is
ended.”
Chapter 78. We hear From Yanina
If Valentine could have seen the trembling step and agitated
countenance of Franz when he quitted the chamber of M. Noirtier, even
she would have been constrained to pity him. Villefort had only just
given utterance to a few incoherent sentences, and then retired to his
study, where he received about two hours afterwards the following
letter:
“After all the disclosures which were made this morning, M. Noirtier de
Villefort must see the utter impossibility of any alliance being formed
between his family and that of M. Franz d’Épinay. M. d’Épinay must say
that he is shocked and astonished that M. de Villefort, who appeared to
be aware of all the circumstances detailed this morning, should not
have anticipated him in this announcement.”
No one who had seen the magistrate at this moment, so thoroughly
unnerved by the recent inauspicious combination of circumstances, would
have supposed for an instant that he had anticipated the annoyance;
although it certainly never had occurred to him that his father would
carry candor, or rather rudeness, so far as to relate such a history.
And in justice to Villefort, it must be understood that M. Noirtier,
who never cared for the opinion of his son on any subject, had always
omitted to explain the affair to Villefort, so that he had all his life
entertained the belief that General de Quesnel, or the Baron d’Épinay,
as he was alternately styled, according as the speaker wished to
identify him by his own family name, or by the title which had been
conferred on him, fell the victim of assassination, and not that he was
killed fairly in a duel. This harsh letter, coming as it did from a man
generally so polite and respectful, struck a mortal blow at the pride
of Villefort.
Hardly had he read the letter, when his wife entered. The sudden
departure of Franz, after being summoned by M. Noirtier, had so much
astonished everyone, that the position of Madame de Villefort, left
alone with the notary and the witnesses, became every moment more
embarrassing. Determined to bear it no longer, she arose and left the
room; saying she would go and make some inquiries into the cause of his
sudden disappearance.
M. de Villefort’s communications on the subject were very limited and
concise; he told her, in fact, that an explanation had taken place
between M. Noirtier, M. d’Épinay, and himself, and that the marriage of
Valentine and Franz would consequently be broken off. This was an
awkward and unpleasant thing to have to report to those who were
waiting. She therefore contented herself with saying that M. Noirtier
having at the commencement of the discussion been attacked by a sort of
apoplectic fit, the affair would necessarily be deferred for some days
longer. This news, false as it was following so singularly in the train
of the two similar misfortunes which had so recently occurred,
evidently astonished the auditors, and they retired without a word.
During this time Valentine, at once terrified and happy, after having
embraced and thanked the feeble old man for thus breaking with a single
blow the chain which she had been accustomed to consider as
irrefragable, asked leave to retire to her own room, in order to
recover her composure. Noirtier looked the permission which she
solicited. But instead of going to her own room, Valentine, having once
gained her liberty, entered the gallery, and, opening a small door at
the end of it, found herself at once in the garden.
In the midst of all the strange events which had crowded one on the
other, an indefinable sentiment of dread had taken possession of
Valentine’s mind. She expected every moment that she should see Morrel
appear, pale and trembling, to forbid the signing of the contract, like
the Laird of Ravenswood in _The Bride of Lammermoor_.
It was high time for her to make her appearance at the gate, for
Maximilian had long awaited her coming. He had half guessed what was
going on when he saw Franz quit the cemetery with M. de Villefort. He
followed M. d’Épinay, saw him enter, afterwards go out, and then
re-enter with Albert and Château-Renaud. He had no longer any doubts as
to the nature of the conference; he therefore quickly went to the gate
in the clover-patch, prepared to hear the result of the proceedings,
and very certain that Valentine would hasten to him the first moment
she should be set at liberty. He was not mistaken; peering through the
crevices of the wooden partition, he soon discovered the young girl,
who cast aside all her usual precautions and walked at once to the
barrier. The first glance which Maximilian directed towards her
entirely reassured him, and the first words she spoke made his heart
bound with delight.
“We are saved!” said Valentine.
“Saved?” repeated Morrel, not being able to conceive such intense
happiness; “by whom?”
“By my grandfather. Oh, Morrel, pray love him for all his goodness to
us!”
Morrel swore to love him with all his soul; and at that moment he could
safely promise to do so, for he felt as though it were not enough to
love him merely as a friend or even as a father, he worshiped him as a
god.
“But tell me, Valentine, how has it all been effected? What strange
means has he used to compass this blessed end?”
Valentine was on the point of relating all that had passed, but she
suddenly remembered that in doing so she must reveal a terrible secret
which concerned others as well as her grandfather, and she said:
“At some future time I will tell you all about it.”
“But when will that be?”
“When I am your wife.”
The conversation had now turned upon a topic so pleasing to Morrel,
that he was ready to accede to anything that Valentine thought fit to
propose, and he likewise felt that a piece of intelligence such as he
just heard ought to be more than sufficient to content him for one day.
However, he would not leave without the promise of seeing Valentine
again the next night. Valentine promised all that Morrel required of
her, and certainly it was less difficult now for her to believe that
she should marry Maximilian than it was an hour ago to assure herself
that she should not marry Franz.
During the time occupied by the interview we have just detailed, Madame
de Villefort had gone to visit M. Noirtier. The old man looked at her
with that stern and forbidding expression with which he was accustomed
to receive her.
“Sir,” said she, “it is superfluous for me to tell you that Valentine’s
marriage is broken off, since it was here that the affair was
concluded.”
Noirtier’s countenance remained immovable.
“But one thing I can tell you, of which I do not think you are aware;
that is, that I have always been opposed to this marriage, and that the
contract was entered into entirely without my consent or approbation.”
Noirtier regarded his daughter-in-law with the look of a man desiring
an explanation.
“Now that this marriage, which I know you so much disliked, is done
away with, I come to you on an errand which neither M. de Villefort nor
Valentine could consistently undertake.”
Noirtier’s eyes demanded the nature of her mission.
“I come to entreat you, sir,” continued Madame de Villefort, “as the
only one who has the right of doing so, inasmuch as I am the only one
who will receive no personal benefit from the transaction,—I come to
entreat you to restore, not your love, for that she has always
possessed, but to restore your fortune to your granddaughter.”
There was a doubtful expression in Noirtier’s eyes; he was evidently
trying to discover the motive of this proceeding, and he could not
succeed in doing so.
“May I hope, sir,” said Madame de Villefort, “that your intentions
accord with my request?”
Noirtier made a sign that they did.
“In that case, sir,” rejoined Madame de Villefort, “I will leave you
overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness at your prompt acquiescence to
my wishes.” She then bowed to M. Noirtier and retired.
The next day M. Noirtier sent for the notary; the first will was torn
up and a second made, in which he left the whole of his fortune to