The Count of Monte Cristo
“Who comes there?” cried the sentinel, who was less abstracted, and who
saw by the lamp-light a shadow approaching his chief. At this
challenge, Vampa rose quickly, drawing at the same moment a pistol from
his girdle. In a moment all the bandits were on their feet, and twenty
carbines were levelled at the count.
“Well,” said he in a voice perfectly calm, and no muscle of his
countenance disturbed, “well, my dear Vampa, it appears to me that you
receive a friend with a great deal of ceremony.”
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“Ground arms,” exclaimed the chief, with an imperative sign of the
hand, while with the other he took off his hat respectfully; then,
turning to the singular personage who had caused this scene, he said,
“Your pardon, your excellency, but I was so far from expecting the
honor of a visit, that I did not really recognize you.”
“It seems that your memory is equally short in everything, Vampa,” said
the count, “and that not only do you forget people’s faces, but also
the conditions you make with them.”
“What conditions have I forgotten, your excellency?” inquired the
bandit, with the air of a man who, having committed an error, is
anxious to repair it.
“Was it not agreed,” asked the count, “that not only my person, but
also that of my friends, should be respected by you?”
“And how have I broken that treaty, your excellency?”
“You have this evening carried off and conveyed hither the Viscount
Albert de Morcerf. Well,” continued the count, in a tone that made
Franz shudder, “this young gentleman is one of _my friends_—this young
gentleman lodges in the same hotel as myself—this young gentleman has
been up and down the Corso for eight hours in my private carriage, and
yet, I repeat to you, you have carried him off, and conveyed him
hither, and,” added the count, taking the letter from his pocket, “you
have set a ransom on him, as if he were an utter stranger.”
“Why did you not tell me all this—you?” inquired the brigand chief,
turning towards his men, who all retreated before his look. “Why have
you caused me thus to fail in my word towards a gentleman like the
count, who has all our lives in his hands? By heavens! if I thought one
of you knew that the young gentleman was the friend of his excellency,
I would blow his brains out with my own hand!”
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“Well,” said the count, turning towards Franz, “I told you there was
some mistake in this.”
“Are you not alone?” asked Vampa with uneasiness.
“I am with the person to whom this letter was addressed, and to whom I
desired to prove that Luigi Vampa was a man of his word. Come, your
excellency,” the count added, turning to Franz, “here is Luigi Vampa,
who will himself express to you his deep regret at the mistake he has
committed.”
Franz approached, the chief advancing several steps to meet him.
“Welcome among us, your excellency,” he said to him; “you heard what
the count just said, and also my reply; let me add that I would not for
the four thousand piastres at which I had fixed your friend’s ransom,
that this had happened.”
“But,” said Franz, looking round him uneasily, “where is the
viscount?—I do not see him.”
“Nothing has happened to him, I hope,” said the count frowningly.
“The prisoner is there,” replied Vampa, pointing to the hollow space in
front of which the bandit was on guard, “and I will go myself and tell
him he is free.”
The chief went towards the place he had pointed out as Albert’s prison,
and Franz and the count followed him.
“What is the prisoner doing?” inquired Vampa of the sentinel.
“_Ma foi_, captain,” replied the sentry, “I do not know; for the last
hour I have not heard him stir.”
“Come in, your excellency,” said Vampa. The count and Franz ascended
seven or eight steps after the chief, who drew back a bolt and opened a
door. Then, by the gleam of a lamp, similar to that which lighted the
columbarium, Albert was to be seen wrapped up in a cloak which one of
the bandits had lent him, lying in a corner in profound slumber.
“Come,” said the count, smiling with his own peculiar smile, “not so
bad for a man who is to be shot at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Vampa looked at Albert with a kind of admiration; he was not insensible
to such a proof of courage.
“You are right, your excellency,” he said; “this must be one of your
friends.”
Then going to Albert, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Will
your excellency please to awaken?”
Albert stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyelids, and opened his eyes.
“Oh,” said he, “is it you, captain? You should have allowed me to
sleep. I had such a delightful dream. I was dancing the galop at
Torlonia’s with the Countess G——.” Then he drew his watch from his
pocket, that he might see how time sped.
“Half-past one only?” said he. “Why the devil do you rouse me at this
hour?”
“To tell you that you are free, your excellency.”
“My dear fellow,” replied Albert, with perfect ease of mind, “remember,
for the future, Napoleon’s maxim, ‘Never awaken me but for bad news;’
if you had let me sleep on, I should have finished my galop, and have
been grateful to you all my life. So, then, they have paid my ransom?”
“No, your excellency.”
“Well, then, how am I free?”
“A person to whom I can refuse nothing has come to demand you.”
“Come hither?”
“Yes, hither.”
“Really? Then that person is a most amiable person.”
Albert looked around and perceived Franz. “What,” said he, “is it you,
my dear Franz, whose devotion and friendship are thus displayed?”
“No, not I,” replied Franz, “but our neighbor, the Count of Monte
Cristo.”
“Oh, my dear count,” said Albert gayly, arranging his cravat and
wristbands, “you are really most kind, and I hope you will consider me
as under eternal obligations to you, in the first place for the
carriage, and in the next for this visit,” and he put out his hand to
the count, who shuddered as he gave his own, but who nevertheless did
give it.
The bandit gazed on this scene with amazement; he was evidently
accustomed to see his prisoners tremble before him, and yet here was
one whose gay temperament was not for a moment altered; as for Franz,
he was enchanted at the way in which Albert had sustained the national
honor in the presence of the bandit.
“My dear Albert,” he said, “if you will make haste, we shall yet have
time to finish the night at Torlonia’s. You may conclude your
interrupted galop, so that you will owe no ill-will to Signor Luigi,
who has, indeed, throughout this whole affair acted like a gentleman.”
“You are decidedly right, and we may reach the Palazzo by two o’clock.
Signor Luigi,” continued Albert, “is there any formality to fulfil
before I take leave of your excellency?”
“None, sir,” replied the bandit, “you are as free as air.”
“Well, then, a happy and merry life to you. Come, gentlemen, come.”
And Albert, followed by Franz and the count, descended the staircase,
crossed the square chamber, where stood all the bandits, hat in hand.
“Peppino,” said the brigand chief, “give me the torch.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired the count.
“I will show you the way back myself,” said the captain; “that is the
least honor that I can render to your excellency.”
And taking the lighted torch from the hands of the herdsman, he
preceded his guests, not as a servant who performs an act of civility,
but like a king who precedes ambassadors. On reaching the door, he
bowed.
“And now, your excellency,” added he, “allow me to repeat my apologies,
and I hope you will not entertain any resentment at what has occurred.”
“No, my dear Vampa,” replied the count; “besides, you compensate for
your mistakes in so gentlemanly a way, that one almost feels obliged to
you for having committed them.”
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“Gentlemen,” added the chief, turning towards the young men, “perhaps
the offer may not appear very tempting to you; but if you should ever
feel inclined to pay me a second visit, wherever I may be, you shall be
welcome.”
Franz and Albert bowed. The count went out first, then Albert. Franz
paused for a moment.
“Has your excellency anything to ask me?” said Vampa with a smile.
“Yes, I have,” replied Franz; “I am curious to know what work you were
perusing with so much attention as we entered.”
“Cæsar’s _Commentaries_,” said the bandit, “it is my favorite work.”
“Well, are you coming?” asked Albert.
“Yes,” replied Franz, “here I am,” and he, in his turn, left the caves.
They advanced to the plain.
“Ah, your pardon,” said Albert, turning round; “will you allow me,
captain?”
And he lighted his cigar at Vampa’s torch.
“Now, my dear count,” he said, “let us on with all the speed we may. I
am enormously anxious to finish my night at the Duke of Bracciano’s.”
They found the carriage where they had left it. The count said a word
in Arabic to Ali, and the horses went on at great speed.
It was just two o’clock by Albert’s watch when the two friends entered
into the dancing-room. Their return was quite an event, but as they
entered together, all uneasiness on Albert’s account ceased instantly.
“Madame,” said the Viscount of Morcerf, advancing towards the countess,
“yesterday you were so condescending as to promise me a galop; I am
rather late in claiming this gracious promise, but here is my friend,
whose character for veracity you well know, and he will assure you the
delay arose from no fault of mine.”
And as at this moment the orchestra gave the signal for the waltz,
Albert put his arm round the waist of the countess, and disappeared
with her in the whirl of dancers.
In the meanwhile Franz was considering the singular shudder that had
passed over the Count of Monte Cristo at the moment when he had been,
in some sort, forced to give his hand to Albert.
Chapter 38. The Rendezvous
The first words that Albert uttered to his friend, on the following
morning, contained a request that Franz would accompany him on a visit
to the count; true, the young man had warmly and energetically thanked
the count on the previous evening; but services such as he had rendered
could never be too often acknowledged. Franz, who seemed attracted by
some invisible influence towards the count, in which terror was
strangely mingled, felt an extreme reluctance to permit his friend to
be exposed alone to the singular fascination that this mysterious
personage seemed to exercise over him, and therefore made no objection
to Albert’s request, but at once accompanied him to the desired spot,
and, after a short delay, the count joined them in the salon.
“My dear count,” said Albert, advancing to meet him, “permit me to
repeat the poor thanks I offered last night, and to assure you that the
remembrance of all I owe to you will never be effaced from my memory;
believe me, as long as I live, I shall never cease to dwell with
grateful recollection on the prompt and important service you rendered
me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted even for my life.”
“My very good friend and excellent neighbor,” replied the count, with a
smile, “you really exaggerate my trifling exertions. You owe me nothing
but some trifle of 20,000 francs, which you have been saved out of your
travelling expenses, so that there is not much of a score between
us;—but you must really permit me to congratulate you on the ease and
unconcern with which you resigned yourself to your fate, and the
perfect indifference you manifested as to the turn events might take.”
“Upon my word,” said Albert, “I deserve no credit for what I could not
help, namely, a determination to take everything as I found it, and to
let those bandits see, that although men get into troublesome scrapes
all over the world, there is no nation but the French that can smile