The Count of Monte Cristo
shone upon the pale blue paper on which he had just inscribed his
justification of Providence.
It was just five o’clock in the morning when a slight noise like a
stifled sigh reached his ear. He turned his head, looked around him,
and saw no one; but the sound was repeated distinctly enough to
convince him of its reality.
He arose, and quietly opening the door of the drawing-room, saw Haydée,
who had fallen on a chair, with her arms hanging down and her beautiful
head thrown back. She had been standing at the door, to prevent his
going out without seeing her, until sleep, which the young cannot
resist, had overpowered her frame, wearied as she was with watching.
The noise of the door did not awaken her, and Monte Cristo gazed at her
with affectionate regret.
“She remembered that she had a son,” said he; “and I forgot I had a
daughter.” Then, shaking his head sorrowfully, “Poor Haydée,” said he;
“she wished to see me, to speak to me; she has feared or guessed
something. Oh, I cannot go without taking leave of her; I cannot die
without confiding her to someone.”
He quietly regained his seat, and wrote under the other lines:
“I bequeath to Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis,—and son of my
former patron, Pierre Morrel, shipowner at Marseilles,—the sum of
twenty millions, a part of which may be offered to his sister Julie and
brother-in-law Emmanuel, if he does not fear this increase of fortune
may mar their happiness. These twenty millions are concealed in my
grotto at Monte Cristo, of which Bertuccio knows the secret. If his
heart is free, and he will marry Haydée, the daughter of Ali Pasha of
Yanina, whom I have brought up with the love of a father, and who has
shown the love and tenderness of a daughter for me, he will thus
accomplish my last wish. This will has already constituted Haydée
heiress of the rest of my fortune, consisting of lands, funds in
England, Austria, and Holland, furniture in my different palaces and
houses, and which without the twenty millions and the legacies to my
servants, may still amount to sixty millions.”
40241m
He was finishing the last line when a cry behind him made him start,
and the pen fell from his hand.
“Haydée,” said he, “did you read it?”
“Oh, my lord,” said she, “why are you writing thus at such an hour? Why
are you bequeathing all your fortune to me? Are you going to leave me?”
“I am going on a journey, dear child,” said Monte Cristo, with an
expression of infinite tenderness and melancholy; “and if any
misfortune should happen to me——”
The count stopped.
“Well?” asked the young girl, with an authoritative tone the count had
never observed before, and which startled him.
“Well, if any misfortune happen to me,” replied Monte Cristo, “I wish
my daughter to be happy.” Haydée smiled sorrowfully, and shook her
head.
“Do you think of dying, my lord?” said she.
“The wise man, my child, has said, ‘It is good to think of death.’”
“Well, if you die,” said she, “bequeath your fortune to others, for if
you die I shall require nothing;” and, taking the paper, she tore it in
four pieces, and threw it into the middle of the room. Then, the effort
having exhausted her strength, she fell, not asleep this time, but
fainting on the floor.
The count leaned over her and raised her in his arms; and seeing that
sweet pale face, those lovely eyes closed, that beautiful form
motionless and to all appearance lifeless, the idea occurred to him for
the first time, that perhaps she loved him otherwise than as a daughter
loves a father.
“Alas,” murmured he, with intense suffering, “I might, then, have been
happy yet.”
Then he carried Haydée to her room, resigned her to the care of her
attendants, and returning to his study, which he shut quickly this
time, he again copied the destroyed will. As he was finishing, the
sound of a cabriolet entering the yard was heard. Monte Cristo
approached the window, and saw Maximilian and Emmanuel alight. “Good,”
said he; “it was time,”—and he sealed his will with three seals.
A moment afterwards he heard a noise in the drawing-room, and went to
open the door himself. Morrel was there; he had come twenty minutes
before the time appointed.
“I am perhaps come too soon, count,” said he, “but I frankly
acknowledge that I have not closed my eyes all night, nor has anyone in
my house. I need to see you strong in your courageous assurance, to
recover myself.”
Monte Cristo could not resist this proof of affection; he not only
extended his hand to the young man, but flew to him with open arms.
“Morrel,” said he, “it is a happy day for me, to feel that I am beloved
by such a man as you. Good-morning, Emmanuel; you will come with me
then, Maximilian?”
“Did you doubt it?” said the young captain.
“But if I were wrong——”
“I watched you during the whole scene of that challenge yesterday; I
have been thinking of your firmness all night, and I said to myself
that justice must be on your side, or man’s countenance is no longer to
be relied on.”
“But, Morrel, Albert is your friend?”
“Simply an acquaintance, sir.”
“You met on the same day you first saw me?”
“Yes, that is true; but I should not have recollected it if you had not
reminded me.”
“Thank you, Morrel.” Then ringing the bell once, “Look.” said he to
Ali, who came immediately, “take that to my solicitor. It is my will,
Morrel. When I am dead, you will go and examine it.”
“What?” said Morrel, “you dead?”
“Yes; must I not be prepared for everything, dear friend? But what did
you do yesterday after you left me?”
“I went to Tortoni’s, where, as I expected, I found Beauchamp and
Château-Renaud. I own I was seeking them.”
“Why, when all was arranged?”
“Listen, count; the affair is serious and unavoidable.”
“Did you doubt it!”
“No; the offence was public, and everyone is already talking of it.”
“Well?”
“Well, I hoped to get an exchange of arms,—to substitute the sword for
the pistol; the pistol is blind.”
“Have you succeeded?” asked Monte Cristo quickly, with an imperceptible
gleam of hope.
“No; for your skill with the sword is so well known.”
“Ah?—who has betrayed me?”
“The skilful swordsman whom you have conquered.”
“And you failed?”
“They positively refused.”
“Morrel,” said the count, “have you ever seen me fire a pistol?”
“Never.”
“Well, we have time; look.” Monte Cristo took the pistols he held in
his hand when Mercédès entered, and fixing an ace of clubs against the
iron plate, with four shots he successively shot off the four sides of
the club. At each shot Morrel turned pale. He examined the bullets with
which Monte Cristo performed this dexterous feat, and saw that they
were no larger than buckshot.
“It is astonishing,” said he. “Look, Emmanuel.” Then turning towards
Monte Cristo, “Count,” said he, “in the name of all that is dear to
you, I entreat you not to kill Albert!—the unhappy youth has a mother.”
“You are right,” said Monte Cristo; “and I have none.” These words were
uttered in a tone which made Morrel shudder.
“You are the offended party, count.”
“Doubtless; what does that imply?”
“That you will fire first.”
“I fire first?”
“Oh, I obtained, or rather claimed that; we had conceded enough for
them to yield us that.”
“And at what distance?”
“Twenty paces.” A smile of terrible import passed over the count’s
lips.
“Morrel,” said he, “do not forget what you have just seen.”
“The only chance for Albert’s safety, then, will arise from your
emotion.”
“I suffer from emotion?” said Monte Cristo.
“Or from your generosity, my friend; to so good a marksman as you are,
I may say what would appear absurd to another.”
“What is that?”
“Break his arm—wound him—but do not kill him.”
“I will tell you, Morrel,” said the count, “that I do not need
entreating to spare the life of M. de Morcerf; he shall be so well
spared, that he will return quietly with his two friends, while I——”
“And you?”
“That will be another thing; I shall be brought home.”
“No, no,” cried Maximilian, quite unable to restrain his feelings.
“As I told you, my dear Morrel, M. de Morcerf will kill me.”
Morrel looked at him in utter amazement. “But what has happened, then,
since last evening, count?”
“The same thing that happened to Brutus the night before the battle of
Philippi; I have seen a ghost.”
“And that ghost——”
“Told me, Morrel, that I had lived long enough.”
Maximilian and Emmanuel looked at each other. Monte Cristo drew out his
watch. “Let us go,” said he; “it is five minutes past seven, and the
appointment was for eight o’clock.”
A carriage was in readiness at the door. Monte Cristo stepped into it
with his two friends. He had stopped a moment in the passage to listen
at a door, and Maximilian and Emmanuel, who had considerately passed
forward a few steps, thought they heard him answer by a sigh to a sob
from within. As the clock struck eight they drove up to the place of
meeting.
“We are first,” said Morrel, looking out of the window.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Baptistin, who had followed his master with
indescribable terror, “but I think I see a carriage down there under
the trees.”
Monte Cristo sprang lightly from the carriage, and offered his hand to
assist Emmanuel and Maximilian. The latter retained the count’s hand
between his.
“I like,” said he, “to feel a hand like this, when its owner relies on
the goodness of his cause.”
“It seems to me,” said Emmanuel, “that I see two young men down there,
who are evidently, waiting.”
Monte Cristo drew Morrel a step or two behind his brother-in-law.
“Maximilian,” said he, “are your affections disengaged?” Morrel looked
at Monte Cristo with astonishment. “I do not seek your confidence, my
dear friend. I only ask you a simple question; answer it;—that is all I
require.”
“I love a young girl, count.”
“Do you love her much?”
“More than my life.”
“Another hope defeated!” said the count. Then, with a sigh, “Poor
Haydée!” murmured he.
“To tell the truth, count, if I knew less of you, I should think that
you were less brave than you are.”
“Because I sigh when thinking of someone I am leaving? Come, Morrel, it
is not like a soldier to be so bad a judge of courage. Do I regret
life? What is it to me, who have passed twenty years between life and
death? Moreover, do not alarm yourself, Morrel; this weakness, if it is
such, is betrayed to you alone. I know the world is a drawing-room,
from which we must retire politely and honestly; that is, with a bow,
and our debts of honor paid.”
“That is to the purpose. Have you brought your arms?”
“I?—what for? I hope these gentlemen have theirs.”
“I will inquire,” said Morrel.
“Do; but make no treaty—you understand me?”
“You need not fear.” Morrel advanced towards Beauchamp and
Château-Renaud, who, seeing his intention, came to meet him. The three
young men bowed to each other courteously, if not affably.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Morrel, “but I do not see M. de Morcerf.”
“He sent us word this morning,” replied Château-Renaud, “that he would
meet us on the ground.”
“Ah,” said Morrel. Beauchamp pulled out his watch.
“It is only five minutes past eight,” said he to Morrel; “there is not
much time lost yet.”
“Oh, I made no allusion of that kind,” replied Morrel.
“There is a carriage coming,” said Château-Renaud. It advanced rapidly
along one of the avenues leading towards the open space where they were
assembled.
“You are doubtless provided with pistols, gentlemen? M. de Monte Cristo
yields his right of using his.”
“We had anticipated this kindness on the part of the count,” said
Beauchamp, “and I have brought some weapons which I bought eight or ten
days since, thinking to want them on a similar occasion. They are quite