The Count of Monte Cristo
quitted it, and passed a whole day in the island. Now, should any
letters or other documents of a compromising character be found upon
him, will it not be taken for granted that all who uphold him are his
accomplices?”
With the rapid instinct of selfishness, Caderousse readily perceived
the solidity of this mode of reasoning; he gazed, doubtfully,
wistfully, on Danglars, and then caution supplanted generosity.
“Suppose we wait a while, and see what comes of it,” said he, casting a
bewildered look on his companion.
“To be sure!” answered Danglars. “Let us wait, by all means. If he be
innocent, of course he will be set at liberty; if guilty, why, it is no
use involving ourselves in a conspiracy.”
“Let us go, then. I cannot stay here any longer.”
“With all my heart!” replied Danglars, pleased to find the other so
tractable. “Let us take ourselves out of the way, and leave things for
the present to take their course.”
After their departure, Fernand, who had now again become the friend and
protector of Mercédès, led the girl to her home, while some friends of
Dantès conducted his father, nearly lifeless, to the Allées de Meilhan.
The rumor of Edmond’s arrest as a Bonapartist agent was not slow in
circulating throughout the city.
“Could you ever have credited such a thing, my dear Danglars?” asked M.
Morrel, as, on his return to the port for the purpose of gleaning fresh
tidings of Dantès, from M. de Villefort, the assistant procureur, he
overtook his supercargo and Caderousse. “Could you have believed such a
thing possible?”
“Why, you know I told you,” replied Danglars, “that I considered the
circumstance of his having anchored at the Island of Elba as a very
suspicious circumstance.”
“And did you mention these suspicions to any person beside myself?”
0079m
“Certainly not!” returned Danglars. Then added in a low whisper, “You
understand that, on account of your uncle, M. Policar Morrel, who
served under the _other_ government, and who does not altogether
conceal what he thinks on the subject, you are strongly suspected of
regretting the abdication of Napoleon. I should have feared to injure
both Edmond and yourself, had I divulged my own apprehensions to a
soul. I am too well aware that though a subordinate, like myself, is
bound to acquaint the shipowner with everything that occurs, there are
many things he ought most carefully to conceal from all else.”
“’Tis well, Danglars—’tis well!” replied M. Morrel. “You are a worthy
fellow; and I had already thought of your interests in the event of
poor Edmond having become captain of the _Pharaon_.”
“Is it possible you were so kind?”
“Yes, indeed; I had previously inquired of Dantès what was his opinion
of you, and if he should have any reluctance to continue you in your
post, for somehow I have perceived a sort of coolness between you.”
“And what was his reply?”
“That he certainly did think he had given you offence in an affair
which he merely referred to without entering into particulars, but that
whoever possessed the good opinion and confidence of the ship’s owners
would have his preference also.”
“The hypocrite!” murmured Danglars.
“Poor Dantès!” said Caderousse. “No one can deny his being a
noble-hearted young fellow.”
“But meanwhile,” continued M. Morrel, “here is the _Pharaon_ without a
captain.”
“Oh,” replied Danglars, “since we cannot leave this port for the next
three months, let us hope that ere the expiration of that period Dantès
will be set at liberty.”
“No doubt; but in the meantime?”
“I am entirely at your service, M. Morrel,” answered Danglars. “You
know that I am as capable of managing a ship as the most experienced
captain in the service; and it will be so far advantageous to you to
accept my services, that upon Edmond’s release from prison no further
change will be requisite on board the _Pharaon_ than for Dantès and
myself each to resume our respective posts.”
“Thanks, Danglars—that will smooth over all difficulties. I fully
authorize you at once to assume the command of the _Pharaon_, and look
carefully to the unloading of her freight. Private misfortunes must
never be allowed to interfere with business.”
“Be easy on that score, M. Morrel; but do you think we shall be
permitted to see our poor Edmond?”
“I will let you know that directly I have seen M. de Villefort, whom I
shall endeavor to interest in Edmond’s favor. I am aware he is a
furious royalist; but, in spite of that, and of his being king’s
attorney, he is a man like ourselves, and I fancy not a bad sort of
one.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Danglars; “but I hear that he is ambitious, and
that’s rather against him.”
“Well, well,” returned M. Morrel, “we shall see. But now hasten on
board, I will join you there ere long.”
So saying, the worthy shipowner quitted the two allies, and proceeded
in the direction of the Palais de Justice.
0081m
“You see,” said Danglars, addressing Caderousse, “the turn things have
taken. Do you still feel any desire to stand up in his defence?”
“Not the slightest, but yet it seems to me a shocking thing that a mere
joke should lead to such consequences.”
“But who perpetrated that joke, let me ask? neither you nor myself, but
Fernand; you knew very well that I threw the paper into a corner of the
room—indeed, I fancied I had destroyed it.”
“Oh, no,” replied Caderousse, “that I can answer for, you did not. I
only wish I could see it now as plainly as I saw it lying all crushed
and crumpled in a corner of the arbor.”
“Well, then, if you did, depend upon it, Fernand picked it up, and
either copied it or caused it to be copied; perhaps, even, he did not
take the trouble of recopying it. And now I think of it, by Heavens, he
may have sent the letter itself! Fortunately, for me, the handwriting
was disguised.”
“Then you were aware of Dantès being engaged in a conspiracy?”
“Not I. As I before said, I thought the whole thing was a joke, nothing
more. It seems, however, that I have unconsciously stumbled upon the
truth.”
“Still,” argued Caderousse, “I would give a great deal if nothing of
the kind had happened; or, at least, that I had had no hand in it. You
will see, Danglars, that it will turn out an unlucky job for both of
us.”
“Nonsense! If any harm come of it, it should fall on the guilty person;
and that, you know, is Fernand. How can we be implicated in any way?
All we have got to do is, to keep our own counsel, and remain perfectly
quiet, not breathing a word to any living soul; and you will see that
the storm will pass away without in the least affecting us.”
“Amen!” responded Caderousse, waving his hand in token of adieu to
Danglars, and bending his steps towards the Allées de Meilhan, moving
his head to and fro, and muttering as he went, after the manner of one
whose mind was overcharged with one absorbing idea.
“So far, then,” said Danglars, mentally, “all has gone as I would have
it. I am, temporarily, commander of the _Pharaon_, with the certainty
of being permanently so, if that fool of a Caderousse can be persuaded
to hold his tongue. My only fear is the chance of Dantès being
released. But, there, he is in the hands of Justice; and,” added he
with a smile, “she will take her own.” So saying, he leaped into a
boat, desiring to be rowed on board the _Pharaon_, where M. Morrel had
agreed to meet him.
Chapter 6. The Deputy Procureur du Roi
In one of the aristocratic mansions built by Puget in the Rue du Grand
Cours opposite the Medusa fountain, a second marriage feast was being
celebrated, almost at the same hour with the nuptial repast given by
Dantès. In this case, however, although the occasion of the
entertainment was similar, the company was strikingly dissimilar.
Instead of a rude mixture of sailors, soldiers, and those belonging to
the humblest grade of life, the present assembly was composed of the
very flower of Marseilles society,—magistrates who had resigned their
office during the usurper’s reign; officers who had deserted from the
imperial army and joined forces with Condé; and younger members of
families, brought up to hate and execrate the man whom five years of
exile would convert into a martyr, and fifteen of restoration elevate
to the rank of a god.
The guests were still at table, and the heated and energetic
conversation that prevailed betrayed the violent and vindictive
passions that then agitated each dweller of the South, where unhappily,
for five centuries religious strife had long given increased bitterness
to the violence of party feeling.
The emperor, now king of the petty Island of Elba, after having held
sovereign sway over one-half of the world, counting as his subjects a
small population of five or six thousand souls,—after having been
accustomed to hear the “_Vive Napoléons_” of a hundred and twenty
millions of human beings, uttered in ten different languages,—was
looked upon here as a ruined man, separated forever from any fresh
connection with France or claim to her throne.
The magistrates freely discussed their political views; the military
part of the company talked unreservedly of Moscow and Leipsic, while
the women commented on the divorce of Josephine. It was not over the
downfall of the man, but over the defeat of the Napoleonic idea, that
they rejoiced, and in this they foresaw for themselves the bright and
cheering prospect of a revivified political existence.
An old man, decorated with the cross of Saint Louis, now rose and
proposed the health of King Louis XVIII. It was the Marquis de
Saint-Méran. This toast, recalling at once the patient exile of
Hartwell and the peace-loving King of France, excited universal
enthusiasm; glasses were elevated in the air _à l’Anglaise_, and the
ladies, snatching their bouquets from their fair bosoms, strewed the
table with their floral treasures. In a word, an almost poetical fervor
prevailed.
“Ah,” said the Marquise de Saint-Méran, a woman with a stern,
forbidding eye, though still noble and distinguished in appearance,
despite her fifty years—“ah, these revolutionists, who have driven us
from those very possessions they afterwards purchased for a mere trifle
during the Reign of Terror, would be compelled to own, were they here,
that all true devotion was on our side, since we were content to follow
the fortunes of a falling monarch, while they, on the contrary, made
their fortune by worshipping the rising sun; yes, yes, they could not
help admitting that the king, for whom we sacrificed rank, wealth, and
station was truly our ‘Louis the well-beloved,’ while their wretched
usurper has been, and ever will be, to them their evil genius, their
‘Napoleon the accursed.’ Am I not right, Villefort?”
“I beg your pardon, madame. I really must pray you to excuse me, but—in
truth—I was not attending to the conversation.”
“Marquise, marquise!” interposed the old nobleman who had proposed the
toast, “let the young people alone; let me tell you, on one’s wedding
day there are more agreeable subjects of conversation than dry
politics.”
“Never mind, dearest mother,” said a young and lovely girl, with a
profusion of light brown hair, and eyes that seemed to float in liquid
crystal, “’tis all my fault for seizing upon M. de Villefort, so as to
prevent his listening to what you said. But there—now take him—he is
your own for as long as you like. M. Villefort, I beg to remind you my
mother speaks to you.”
“If the marquise will deign to repeat the words I but imperfectly
caught, I shall be delighted to answer,” said M. de Villefort.
“Never mind, Renée,” replied the marquise, with a look of tenderness
that seemed out of keeping with her harsh dry features; but, however
all other feelings may be withered in a woman’s nature, there is always