ESPERANCE IN DESPAIR.
It was indeed by this mysterious path that Esperance had gone. When he
heard that Jane was not to be found, he at first could hardly comprehend
what was said. He ran to Jane's room and looked about, then scarce
knowing what he did, he left the house and then returned to it, after
having wandered over Paris for two or three hours. No one noticed his
pallor when he entered the hotel. He went to Jane's room again, and
there, lying back in a low chair, he looked about with sad eyes.
Suddenly he saw a panel slowly open in the wall. He was not afraid.
Esperance did not know the sensation, and now he simply expected some
revelation. He instantly knew that this was the path by which Jane had
been taken away. He rose and entered the dark corridor. He had no light,
and the door at once closed behind him; but he had inherited his
father's singular power of seeing in the dark.
He discovered the stairs, and began to descend them. He went on and on,
and then another corridor, and then more stairs. Finally he reached a
door, which he opened, and entered a large room hung with silk. It was
one of the houses which had been so useful to Monte-Cristo years before.
The path by which Esperance had come crossed the Champs Elysees under
ground, and communicated with this house.
All was magnificent, but Esperance saw nothing. Nothing but a lacquer
table on which lay a letter. This letter contained the words, "If the
son of Monte-Cristo be not a coward, if he wishes to find her whom he
has lost, he will go from here to a certain Malvernet, who lives at
Courberrie. There he will learn what he wishes to know, and will act as
he deems best."
Esperance was delighted. He did not stop to think of the singularity of
finding this note in this place. What did he care for this mystery that
surrounded him? He had found Jane Zeld, or rather he had found traces of
her. He went to the chimney to look at the clock, for he had lost all
idea of time, and happening to see his own face in the mirror, he could
not repress a start. He looked to himself at least ten years older than
when he last stood before a mirror. He wondered at himself, when he
remembered his father, whose youth seemed eternal, in spite of the
trials through which he had passed. When he went out from the hotel the
first time he had mechanically put in his pocket a pair of revolvers--he
had them now.