HOW AND WHERE COUCOU TOOK LEAVE
In a beautiful garden, adjacent to a small splendid villa, Clary Ellis
this evening walked irresolutely to and fro. Madam Caraman, with whom
the young girl had a lively conversation, had retired, as she stated, to
work on the veranda, and Clary was reflecting on the conversation.
When the young girl had, in the afternoon, seen the count at Mercedes',
she had become quite inquisitive to know something more about the
stranger; the way and manner, however, Mercedes answered her questions
in nowise satisfied her curiosity.
The count was an old friend of the family, was Mercedes' answer; he had
known her son, previous to going to Africa, and he had always felt a
lively interest for him.
Clary had accepted this explanation without putting confidence in it;
she saw that Mercedes tried to hide something from her and that vexed
her.
Madame Caraman had the next day called for her _protégée_, and in
walking home together, she said:
"Do you know, Clary, what I have heard to-day--the Count of Monte Cristo
is said to be in Marseilles."
"Well, what is there remarkable in that?" Clary calmly asked. "Have you
not seen him then?"
"Seen him--where?" responded Madame Caraman, stupefied.
"Dear me, he just left as I came to Madame Joliette. You were waiting
outside the house and could not have failed to see him."
"Oh, Lord! could the gentleman who rode off with the Zouave have been
the count?" remarked Madame Caraman, quickly.
"No doubt; a slender, pale man, with dark hair."
"That I should not have known it!--where must my eyes have been?"
lamented Madame Caraman, and in the meantime both had reached the villa,
and Clary said carelessly:
"Please come with me in the garden, Madame Caraman; I like to hear more
particulars about this Count of Monte-Cristo."
"But, Clary," said the French lady with astonishment, "have you never
heard of the count? What do they read yonder in England?"
"Oh, various matters--but what has this to do with the count?"
"More than you think of; you have stocked in your little heart a great
deal of ballast, and neglected the most necessary things. Do you know
the author Alexandre Dumas?"
"Only as far as the name is concerned."
"H'm--I thought so; yes--France does not for no purpose possess the
credit of being at the head of civilization."
"But Mamma Caraman, when are we then to return to our subject, the
count?" asked Clary, impatiently.
"At once. Alexandre Dumas has written many romances, and one of the
most interesting is 'The Count of Monte-Cristo.'"
"Mamma Caraman," said Clary, vexed, "how is it that you intend to dish
up for me such a childish fable?"
"But I am speaking seriously; Dumas has rendered more service for the
general education of the people than ten ministers. In his 'Three
Guardsmen,' for instance, one gets thoroughly acquainted with the
histories of Richelieu, Anna of Austria and Louis XIII., in a very
interesting manner. In the 'Count of Monte-Cristo' the shortcomings and
faults of the government after the overthrow of the great emperor are
unsparingly exposed, and in the same way every work of the great
novelist offers special merits. The more I think of it the more clearly
I understand it, that we also have in your friend, Madame Joliette, a
character of the novel before us. Her name is Mercedes, and she is no
doubt Madame de Morcerf. And the name of her son?"
"Albert."
"Well, there it is; the father was a scamp, who shot himself, the son
and the wife resigned their possessions and then disappeared from
society. It will perhaps be best if I send the servant to a library to
get the romance; I wager that you will not put the book aside till you
have perused it all through?"
Clary nodded and ten minutes later she sat with glowing cheeks and
beating heart absorbed in the reading of this interesting novel. She
sympathized with Edmond Dantes and Faria, she wept with Mercedes, she
hated Villefort, lamented for Madame Danglars, was enthusiastic for
Valentine, admired Maximilian and breathed much easier when Madame de
Villefort, the inhuman poisoner, had ended her evil career. And over all
these personages hovered in wonderful glory the modern knight without
fear and blame, the chastising judge, the noble benefactor. Monte-Cristo
seemed to the young girl like a god, and when darkness set in and Madame
Caraman looked about for her _protégée_, Clary embraced her and said,
sobbing:
"Oh, Mamma Caraman, how beautiful is the romance and how happy do I feel
to have seen the count! Yes, so, just so, he ought to appear; oh,
Alexandre Dumas is a great man!"
Madame Caraman smiled; she did not expect anything else. Both ladies
conversed then more explicitly of the various persons in the romance,
and afterward the companion withdrew, as already mentioned, to the
veranda to work, and Clary remained, absorbed in a reverie, sitting in a
little pavilion ornamented with flowers.
How long she had been meditating she was unable to tell, when all at
once without the garden wall a curious noise was heard. Clary lifted her
head and listened; the reading had excited her to the extent that at
this moment a spectral appearance would have come not unexpectedly and
yet she quite plainly noticed a sparkling pair of eyes, which
inquiringly turned in all directions. Clary did not stir. A cloud, which
up to that moment hid the moon, broke, and the girl recognized the
Zouave, who sat upon the wall and then slipped down into the garden.
Coucou seemed to know that he was trespassing upon strange ground; he
listened for a while, and as everything seemed quiet he selected the
walk which led to the veranda.
At the veranda a lamp was burning, and close by stood a basket filled
with various skeins and balls of wool, while Madame Caraman sat in her
chair snoring comfortably. The Jackal remained motionless at the foot of
the veranda and looked up, and as nothing seemed to move, he soon
resolved to climb the fence, which was closed by the stairs leading into
the garden.
As soon as the Jackal saw Madame Caraman, he became rather agitated; he
thought of his mother, and yet he was aware that this lady appeared far
younger and more elegant than his mother, even were she alive. With his
hands folded over his breast, he looked at the sleeping woman; he did
not anticipate that Clary, hid behind a tamarind-tree, watched all his
movements and almost broke her head in considering what motive brought
the Zouave to this spot.
Now Coucou approached the companion, but the noise woke Madame Caraman,
and uttering a half-suppressed shriek she jumped up and looked drowsily
at the intruder. She recognized only the form of a man, and
instinctively grasping after the first object at hand, she took hold of
the work-basket and threw it with all her might at the Zouave. The
basket hit Coucou's head and clapped itself like a helmet over his face,
while the wool skeins became entangled in his hair, tickling his nose
and causing a violent cough and continual sneezing.
The lady now first recognized the brave Jackal, and considering the
awkward situation he was placed in, she could not help bursting into a
loud laugh. In vain Coucou tried to rid himself of the wool threads; he
coughed and sneezed uninterruptedly, and the basket seemed to cling more
tightly to his face. At length the French lady took pity on him and
helped him to remove the basket, and then in a voice of merriment which
she could not suppress she said:
"Well, Monsieur Jackal, you will perhaps tell me what induced you to
come here?"
Coucou was ready to answer, but the wool threads prevented him, and
while Madame Caraman again broke out laughing, and Clary, below in the
garden, suffered from suffocation, because she felt obliged to suppress
her laughter in order not to betray her presence, the Zouave
breathlessly gasped:
"One--drop--of water--I suffocate!"
Madame Caraman was not cruel. She handed the Jackal a glassful of water,
and as the cough would not stop, she took from the sideboard a bottle
filled with cordial and offered it to the soldier with these words:
"There, drink a drop, you big scamp, and then explain your presence
here."
The Zouave cast a grateful glance at the lady and took a long draught
out of the bottle.
"Sapristi!" he then exclaimed, smacking his tongue, "that is an
excellent drop!"
"Bah, never mind the drop now, but answer my question," rejoined the
lady. "What are you looking for here?"
"I--intended--"
"Quick, and do not stutter so awfully. Is it lawful at night and in
darkness to enter a strange abode and to frighten people?"
"Alas, I shall certainly never do it again," stammered poor Coucou,
crestfallen. "I came here, because--"
"Dear me, I almost believe you have lost your power of speech,"
laughingly interrupted Madame Caraman.
"Not exactly, madame, but behold, there are moments in the life of a
soldier--"
"In which he proves himself especially stupid," added Madame Caraman
impatiently; "stick to your subject."
Coucou bowed, as if a compliment were paid him.
"Madame," he commenced again, "Providence permitted us to-day to meet
each other--"
"Providence?" repeated the lady in great merriment; "Mr. Zouave, you
seem to me to be getting a little crazy!"
"Oh, madame," said Coucou ardently, "it will not offend you, if I tell
you that I find you exceedingly--and, speaking plainly, consider you
quite lovely! Call me impertinent, madame: but believe my assurance that
I speak the real truth. I have seen ladies in all parts of the world,
blondes and brunettes, black and white, but I never met one who
understood how to win my heart till I this day met you!"
Madame Caraman was, indeed, Clary's governess, but she was, first of
all, a wife, and Coucou's words were repugnant to her.
"Monsieur Zouave," she replied, "I am forty-two years old" (unwittingly
she skipped a few), "and you may call yourself lucky that I do not mind
a joke--"
"A joke? But I can take an oath--"
"Do not swear," interrupted the lady, in a menacing manner, "but let me
speak. First, you ought to know that I have always been an honest wife,
and only loved my husband, who is now in heaven. Secondly, I am
employed by a greatly esteemed and amiable young girl, and as you have
without the slightest pretext entered here, you have forfeited the
respect which you owe the owner of this villa. Thus you know now what
you ought to know, and mark it down for the future, Monsieur Zouave."
Coucou felt as if it were best for him to sink into the ground; red like
a peony he began to stutter:
"Pardon me, I intended nothing wrong!"
The widow of the gendarme officer had compassion on his embarrassment.
"Well, do not take it to heart too much," she said, kindly. "I do not
bite anybody! You are, after all, a soldier, and if you do your duty,
you cannot always touch everything with kid gloves. My dear departed
husband often told me so, and therefore console yourself and listen to
me. I am ready to pardon you, but only under one condition."
"Oh, under all conditions, even ever so difficult," ejaculated Coucou,
lively. "Speak, please; what am I to do?"
"Not much, but to tell me, quite openly, why you have come to this place
this evening?"
"Only to see you."
"Indeed! Well, I must confess I like you! So you have fallen in love
with me, like a student at a boarding-school, and in order to satisfy
your suddenly aroused desires you creep at night into other people's
houses! Do you know how these fellows are generally styled?"
Coucou bent his head, and Madame Caraman earnestly continued:
"Would it not be more simple and also more becoming, if you were to
come here to-morrow by daylight, and ask for admittance?"
"But that is just the thing," despairingly exclaimed Coucou, "for me
there is no morning!"
"What does that all mean?"
"Well, what I say is, that for me there is no morning here!"
"Lord and Saviour, how am I to understand this nonsense?" said Madame
Caraman, impatiently.
Coucou changed his tactics.
"Madame," said he with emphasis, "I will admit that my uncalled-for
entrance here was certainly quite wrong, but you ought not to consider
it in the light of an offence."
"I hope so," replied the companion respectfully, "and I am ready to look
for any proofs thereof."
The Zouave again looked down quite abashed.
"It passed previously through my head," he commenced, rather
discouraged, "that you perhaps would show a little interest for me--"
"Always worse--you are getting impertinent!"
"No, no, madame, that I am not; only allow me to explain. Consider, I am
a soldier; the regiment is my home, and I have neither father nor mother
who care for me. Taking it all in all, I do not mind that; I fight with
the Kabyles, and when one day my end approaches, nobody will have to
mourn for me. But you appear to me so kind and trustworthy, that Satan
urged me on, and as I shall probably never see you again--"
"Ah, and why not?"
"I bid you farewell, for to-morrow morning it will be all over."
"Well, not so hasty; don't jump immediately from one extreme to
another," scolded Madame Caraman, who against her own desire felt some
sympathy, although she tried to hide it; "tell me now exactly the whole
proceeding; otherwise you seem to be a brave fellow, and it would be a
pity for the uniform you wear were it not so. Well, then, speak out;
what is the matter to-morrow?"
"Alas, madame, your kindness encourages me. Only consider, if a man is
on the point of leaving his home, and perhaps forever, he is longing to
say to somebody good-by, and when on such an occasion a beautiful woman
shakes hands and says, 'Farewell, my boy,' then it surely brings luck!"
"But, Monsieur Zouave, you speak in riddles to me. Where are you going,
if I may put the question?"
"To Algiers, in the desert, and then further."
"But you are returning to your regiment?"
"God forbid. I have an unlimited furlough."
"By my life, it requires a corkscrew in order to get the words out of
your mouth! Plainly told, what mean all these preliminaries?"
"Well, you know already that the son of Madame Mercedes, Captain
Joliette, has disappeared. I am attached to my captain and--"
"Quick, make haste, I am fast losing all patience!"
"To-day a pale-looking man with sparkling dark eyes, and coal-black hair
and beard, told me that he starts to-morrow morning in order to search
for Captain Joliette, and intends to take me with him!"
Neither the Zouave nor Madame Caraman heard the half-suppressed
exclamation, which had just occurred close to the veranda; Madame
Caraman felt astonished, and rising suddenly asked almost breathlessly:
"If I understand rightly, then, the Count of Monte-Cristo intends
searching the Sahara for Captain Joliette?"
"Yes, that is the case, and I accompany him. For such an expedition
courage is the first requirement, and, as I do not lack any, the count
has selected me. Now, you know all and wherefore I came; I did not wish
to vex you, and now I depart again. Adieu, Madame Caraman!"
The Zouave swung his cap and turned round ready to depart. The lady
looked at him with mingled feelings; she was a kind-hearted soul and the
brave Zouave amused her. She never had a son, but she thought, if God
had presented her with one, he ought to have resembled the Jackal. That
he came to bid her good-by, moved her, and she said in a half-audible
voice:
"Monsieur Zouave!"
Coucou remained standing.
"Come this way! Are you, perhaps, afraid of me? On previous occasions
you were less timid."
Coucou's hesitating steps justified this suspicion, and Madame Caraman
continued, smilingly:
"I shall not hurt you; there, put your hand into mine--" Coucou blushed
like a girl.
"What? I should be allowed to put my ugly paw into your hand!" he
stuttered quite confounded, and then he perceived that he had been again
rude and tried to excuse himself.
"I spoke of my ugly paw--I--"
"Never mind that," the lady interrupted him; "there, shake hands and
think that I am your mother!"
"You my mother?" said Coucou laughing, with tears in his eyes; "oh, no
such thing; then you must act differently! When I took leave of my poor
mother, she took hold of my head and kissed me heartily on both cheeks!
I believe I have to thank these kisses that I still carry my head
between my shoulders!"
Madame Caraman wiped a tear from her eye, and then she took the head of
the Zouave between her hands and did exactly like his mother.
"Hurrah, Mother Caraman," called out Coucou joyfully; "you are an
excellent mother! Farewell, and if God spares me, I hope we may meet
again!"
"I hope so, my boy," said Madame Caraman with faltering voice. "God
protect you and grant that you may again find your captain! It will all
be right in course of time--adieu!"
The Zouave made two long strides in getting downstairs, and in a moment
he had reached and climbed the garden-wall. Placing himself upon it, he
swung his cap, and calling aloud, "Adieu, Mother Caraman," disappeared.
"A real Parisian boy," muttered Madame Caraman to herself: "a hot-headed
fellow with a golden heart. It would grieve me should I not see him
again."
A soft hand now touched the lady's shoulder, and looking up she
perceived her _protégée_, who stood before her smiling.
"Is it you, Clary," said the companion rather awkwardly, while she
changed color and became red and white, by turns, "you have then--"
"Seen and heard the Zouave," rejoined the young girl, laughing.
"But I can assure you--he came--I am not answerable--the garden-wall--"
"I know, I know, Mamma Caraman," interrupted Clary. "You do not think
that I am going to reproach you? So Coucou goes to Algiers?"
"Yes, in order to search for Captain Joliette; the count--"
"I know all," said Clary, hastily placing her finger upon the
governess's lips; "they are going, but it is all chance--"
"Yes, all chance work in a desert. It is terrible! Think only of the
simoom, the sand, the Kabyles, and the wild animals!"
"Have you the map of Algiers at hand?"
"Yes, here is the atlas."
Clary knelt close to the chair of the governess, who had the atlas on
her lap, and after they had studied minutely all the mountains and
deserts of Africa, she suddenly inquired:
"How do people travel in the Sahara?"
"In caravans, with camels and negroes. It is a troublesome journey, dear
child, and--"
"Mamma Caraman, how much money have we at present in hand?" suddenly
interrupted Clary.
The governess drew a pocketbook out of her work-basket, and, examining
the contents, said:
"About three hundred pounds sterling, or seven thousand five hundred
francs."
"That is very little," said Clary.
"We have besides bills of exchange to the amount of one hundred thousand
francs."
"What may be the time now?"
"Nearly ten o'clock, Clary."
"Well, then, please have our horses ready."
"Our horses, at this time?" said the governess, alarmed.
"Yes, at once. Hurry your toilet; I shall do the same, and then
good-by."
"But, Clary, what do you intend to do?"
"Mamma Caraman, I am not yet quite clear upon that point, but on the
road to Marseilles you shall know everything. Apropos, take the three
hundred pounds with you."
"You are not thinking, surely, of spending the money this very evening?"
"H'm, who knows. At any rate take also the bills of exchange, and now go
and make haste."
Clary soon got away, and the astonished governess had no other
alternative than to obey the orders of the spoiled child. Ten minutes
later both ladies sat in their saddles, and rode, accompanied by a
groom, toward the town.