FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
The Count of Monte-Cristo was in his study, pacing to and fro; he was
plunged in thought, and an expression indicative of deep concern was
upon his pale, but resolute countenance. Ever and anon he would pause in
front of a small table on which was a telegraphic outfit for the sending
and receiving of messages, listening with close attention to the sounds
given forth, for, although sound reading was not much practiced by the
telegraphers of that period, Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have all the
accomplishments of his own age and those of ages to come, was a
proficient at it, as well as a remarkably rapid and correct operator.
It was nearly midnight. The entire family in the mansion of the Rue du
Helder had retired to rest, with the exception of its head, who had
remained up in response to a summons from Berlin to be ready to receive
the details of a secret meeting of a vast society of Prussian patriots,
which would be sent to him in cipher by one of his most enthusiastic and
active agents for the promotion of the cause of universal human liberty.
The intense heat that had prevailed all day had been but slightly
moderated by the advent of a close, sultry night; there was not the
faintest breeze in the heavy, oppressive air, and the blue sky, full of
stars and flooded with brilliant moonlight, was without a cloud. The
silvery brightness poured in through the open windows of the study, so
illuminating the apartment that the Count had extinguished his lamp.
Fantastic shadows were projected on the floor by the book-cases and
various articles of furniture, looking like gigantic and dwarfed shapes
of demons and elfs and lending the scene a weird, supernatural aspect.
Monte-Cristo walked amid these distorted shadows like some master
magician communing with the dark, mysterious spirits that received his
commands in silence and then vanished to execute them without question
or debate.
The Count's thoughts were of a sombre nature; he was pondering over the
problem of French freedom, wondering how long the volatile, changeful
nation with which he had cast his lot would retain the liberty acquired
by the revolution that had overturned Louis Philippe's throne and given
the people power. He distrusted the events of the near future. Already
the Bonapartists were active and Louis Napoleon was looming up as a
formidable figure. The nephew of the great conqueror of Europe professed
republican sentiments, but Monte-Cristo doubted his sincerity as well as
his ability to govern the restless population of Paris. He foresaw
imitation of the famous Emperor; his prophetic eye pierced through Louis
Napoleon's presidential aspirations and saw beyond them a second Empire
not less brilliant but not more substantial than the first. The policy
of the Bonapartes was to dazzle the masses, the men of the barricades,
by a show of grandeur and amuse rather than force them into submission.
The Count had held aloof from Louis Napoleon, had even opposed him to
the full extent of his mighty influence; he had done so not from any
personal considerations, but for the good of the entire French people,
for the preservation intact of the fabric of freedom, the fruit of the
revolution of 1848.
Meanwhile, as these thoughts coursed through Monte-Cristo's active
brain, the telegraphic instrument went ticking steadily on, but the
information he expected was not conveyed. News flashed to him from every
centre of political agitation save Berlin; there an obstinate, ominous
silence prevailed. Several times he sought to open communication with
his confederate in the Prussian capital, but his signals were
unanswered. At last he paused wearily in his walk, throwing himself in a
huge arm-chair; fatigue weighed upon his eyelids and he speedily sank
into an uneasy, broken sleep, from which he started at intervals,
disturbed by some vague, disquieting dream. Ever and anon, as he dozed,
that smile that made him so handsome would steal over his manly
countenance, bringing out into bold relief all his wonderful nobility
and benevolence of expression.
As midnight struck in every clock-tower in Paris, the usual solitude of
the Rue du Helder at that dead hour was broken by the appearance of a
sinister figure at the little gate of Monte-Cristo's garden. This figure
was almost instantly followed by another hardly less forbidding. Both
wore masks and moved as stealthily as cats. The second figure addressed
the first, speaking in a cautious whisper:
"Bouche-de-Miel, is that you?"
"Yes. Siebecker, have you the key?" muttered the other, scarcely above
his breath.
"Here it is, old man. Now to work. The others will be on hand in a
moment. Open the gate and let us get in."
Bouche-de-Miel took the key, which was covered with oil to prevent
grating, and inserted it in the lock. It fitted to a charm and turned
noiselessly. Bouche-de-Miel gave the gate a gentle push; it yielded,
swinging open without a sound. The two men passed inside, partially
closing it after them. The moonlight fell upon the seat that Zuleika and
Mlle. d' Armilly had occupied beneath the honey-suckle-covered arbor
that morning; Bouche-de-Miel gave a sudden start as he glanced at it,
half-repenting of having yielded to Waldmann's command under the impulse
of his hatred for Monte-Cristo and his desire for revenge; he trembled
violently in spite of all his efforts to maintain composure and his face
became one mass of sweat beneath his protecting mask. Siebecker noticed
his agitation and gave vent to a smothered curse.
"Sacre nom d' un chien!" he muttered, between his teeth, "if you go on
like that, old man, it would have been better had Waldmann let you off.
You can't do this job with an unsteady hand. Brace up, brace up,
Bouche-de-Miel! What's that?"
There was a slight noise at the gate. Grasping his tremulous companion
by the arm, Siebecker hurriedly drew him behind a clump of small
chestnut trees. No sooner were they hidden than three masked men
cautiously opened the gate and came on tip-toe into the garden.
Waldmann, Peppino and Beppo had arrived and were ready to do their share
of the nefarious work. Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel silently emerged
from their hiding-place and joined them.
Waldmann glanced about him, evidently satisfied.
"So far so good," said he, in an undertone. "We are all here on time. Do
not let us waste an instant. Have you steadied your nerves with plenty
of brandy, Bouche-de-Miel?"
"I'm all right," replied the latter, doggedly, though there was a
perceptible quiver in his voice as he spoke.
"He has just had another fit of fear," said Siebecker, disdainfully. "I
think we would do well to leave him with Peppino and Beppo to keep watch
in the garden! It won't be safe to take him with us into the house,
Waldmann!"
The leader went up to Bouche-de-Miel and gave him a rough shake.
"You are a coward!" said he, savagely. "That woman story you told us was
all bosh. You are afraid of meeting Monte-Cristo, as I saw very plainly
this morning!"
This taunt stung Bouche-de-Miel to the quick and restored to him all his
courage. He faced Waldmann unflinchingly and retorted:
"I am no coward and I am not afraid of Monte-Cristo!"
"Then what is the matter with, you?"
"That is my business, but it shan't damage this night's work. I will go
with you to the house and do my part as well as you or Siebecker. You
said not to waste an instant. What are you waiting for? Go on!"
"Do you swear to stand by us to the last whatever happens?"
"I swear it!"
"I will trust you."
"And you will have no reason to repent of your trust. If I meet
Monte-Cristo I will kill him as I would a mongrel cur! Does that satisfy
you?"
"How about your mysterious woman?"
Bouche-de-Miel could not repress a start, but he clenched his fists
firmly and replied, with an effort:
"Never mind her! She must take care of herself!"
"Who is she?"
"Never mind her, I say! If harm comes to her it will be her own fault!"
Waldmann appeared reassured; nevertheless he whispered in
Bouche-de-Miel's ear with a terrible earnestness that plainly showed he
meant what he said:
"I told you I would trust you, and I will. But if you weaken, if you
seek to act the traitor to save that woman, I will blow your brains out
where you stand!"
Bouche-de-Miel shrugged his shoulders.
"If I weaken, if I seek to betray you, shoot me on the spot! I give you
leave! But if you use your pistol, it will be on other game than me! Let
us to work!"
Leaving the two Italians on guard at the gate, Waldmann and Siebecker,
with Bouche-de-Miel between them, went stealthily towards the house,
walking on the grass that the sound of their footsteps might be muffled.
They kept well in the shadows of the trees, reaching the rear of the
mansion unobserved and without incident. Waldmann removed his shoes and
the others followed his example.
"Everything is silent," he whispered. "No doubt all the members of the
household, including the redoubtable Count himself, are fast asleep. We
shall have an easy thing of it."
He went upon the back porch and tried the door of the servants'
quarters. It had been carelessly left unlocked. He opened it and peered
within. Only darkness and silence there. He beckoned to his comrades;
they also came on the porch. Waldmann produced a dark lantern from under
his coat; the three robbers entered Monte-Cristo's house.
"The Count's study where he keeps his money is on the second floor,"
whispered Bouche-de-Miel. "We can reach it by going up the servants'
stairway over there."
He pointed across the small corridor in which they stood. Waldmann
cautiously opened his lantern and the narrow thread of light that came
from it revealed the stairway. The miscreants mounted it and, guided by
Bouche-de-Miel, who seemed to be thoroughly familiar with the
topography of the mansion, were soon in front of Monte-Cristo's study.
The door was ajar. Bouche-de-Miel glanced in, but instantly withdrew his
head, motioning Waldmann and Siebecker to look. They did so, and saw a
man asleep in an arm-chair; simultaneously a sharp click in the room
alarmed them; they clenched their teeth, set their lips firmly together
and drew their pistols. The sharp click was repeated, followed in rapid
succession by several others. It was the telegraphic instrument--the
news from Berlin had come!
Instantly the Count was wide awake. He leaped from his chair and ran to
the instrument, to the clicking of which he eagerly and intently
listened. The vast society of Prussian patriots had met. The delegates
had been long in arriving, for, although the utmost secrecy had been
used, the royal police had got wind of their presence in the capital and
of the proposed assemblage. Still, it was hoped that the meeting would
not be disturbed, as the rendezvous was in a secluded locality, of
which, it was thought, the authorities were not suspicious. Scarcely,
however, had the president taken his seat when the police poured in
through every door and window. All the patriots were arrested, save
Monte-Cristo's confederate, who by a lucky chance succeeded in deceiving
the myrmidons of the law.
The Count's brow clouded as he heard this startling intelligence ticked
off by the telegraphic instrument. He put his hand to his forehead at
the conclusion of the ominous message and staggered like a drunken man
back to his arm-chair, into which he sank. As he did so, Waldmann,
Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel, who immediately rushed forward, seized him
and held him there with the strength of iron. Waldmann slipped a gag
into his mouth and Siebecker bound him firmly to the chair with a stout
cord he took from his pocket. The binding accomplished, the robbers
quitted their hold of the Count and turned in search of the plunder they
had come for--the millions of Monte-Cristo!
Suddenly there was a loud cry. It came from Bouche-de-Miel. The others
turned and looked at him, their pistols in their hands. He was staring
at a white-robed woman, who stood like a ghost in the open doorway of
the study. At that juncture another door opened and Ali, the faithful
Nubian, followed by all the valets of the household, sprang into the
room, falling upon the bewildered scoundrels ere they had recovered from
their surprise. There was a brief struggle, but the servants were
unarmed, and the robbers, disengaging themselves from the clutches of
their adversaries, kept them at bay with their pistols and slowly backed
from the apartment. In the conflict, however, Bouche-de-Miel's mask was
torn from his face, and his countenance was no sooner visible than the
white-robed woman ran towards him with outstretched arms, breathlessly
exclaiming:
"My father! my father!"
Bouche-de-Miel motioned her from him; then he moved as if to approach
her, urged on by a feeling he was altogether unable to master; but
Waldmann, still keeping his pistol pointed at Ali and his companions,
seized him by the arm with a grip of iron and drew him away. The foiled
robbers succeeded in making their escape from the house, and the garden.
The Count of Monte-Cristo had been unbound and ungagged by Ali when the
robbers had left the study. Alarmed by the unwonted noise and commotion,
Captain de Morcerf, Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had appeared upon the
scene, but too late to witness the conflict with the miscreants. In a
few words the Count explained to them what had happened. Zuleika glanced
at Mlle. d' Armilly as if she suspected that the strange beggar of that
morning had something to do with this midnight invasion of their home;
Louise looked uneasy and agitated, but preserved a stony silence.
The white-robed woman still stood as if stupefied. Mlle. d' Armilly went
to her and asked, solicitously:
"Eugenie, what is the matter?"
This question aroused young Madame de Morcerf, for it was she, from her
stupor. She threw herself into a chair and covered her face with her
hands, moaning piteously:
"Oh! Louise! Louise! I have seen my father! He was one of the robbers!
It is terrible, terrible!"
Captain de Morcerf, who had gone to his wife's side and tenderly taken
her hand, gazed inquiringly at the Count.
"I saw the man she speaks of perfectly," said Monte-Cristo, in reply to
his look, "and he was certainly the Baron Danglars!"