Part 126

“Oh.” cried Madame de Villefort, “it is really frightful.” Madame Danglars tried to utter a few words, but was not heard. Many observations were made, the import of which was a unanimous opinion that there was something sinister about the room. 30221m “Is it not so?” asked Monte Cristo. “Look at that large clumsy bed, hung with such gloomy, blood-colored drapery! And those two crayon portraits, that have faded from the dampness; do they not seem to say, with their pale lips and staring eyes, ‘We have seen’?” Villefort became livid; Madame Danglars fell into a long seat placed near the chimney. “Oh,” said Madame de Villefort, smiling, “are you courageous enough to sit down upon the very seat perhaps upon which the crime was committed?” Madame Danglars rose suddenly. “And then,” said Monte Cristo, “this is not all.” “What is there more?” said Debray, who had not failed to notice the agitation of Madame Danglars. “Ah, what else is there?” said Danglars; “for, at present, I cannot say that I have seen anything extraordinary. What do you say, M. Cavalcanti?” “Ah,” said he, “we have at Pisa, Ugolino’s tower; at Ferrara, Tasso’s prison; at Rimini, the room of Francesca and Paolo.” “Yes, but you have not this little staircase,” said Monte Cristo, opening a door concealed by the drapery. “Look at it, and tell me what you think of it.” “What a wicked-looking, crooked staircase,” said Château-Renaud with a smile. “I do not know whether the wine of Chios produces melancholy, but certainly everything appears to me black in this house,” said Debray. Ever since Valentine’s dowry had been mentioned, Morrel had been silent and sad. “Can you imagine,” said Monte Cristo, “some Othello or Abbé de Ganges, one stormy, dark night, descending these stairs step by step, carrying a load, which he wishes to hide from the sight of man, if not from God?” Madame Danglars half fainted on the arm of Villefort, who was obliged to support himself against the wall. “Ah, madame,” cried Debray, “what is the matter with you? how pale you look!” “It is very evident what is the matter with her,” said Madame de Villefort; “M. de Monte Cristo is relating horrible stories to us, doubtless intending to frighten us to death.” “Yes,” said Villefort, “really, count, you frighten the ladies.” “What is the matter?” asked Debray, in a whisper, of Madame Danglars. “Nothing,” she replied with a violent effort. “I want air, that is all.” “Will you come into the garden?” said Debray, advancing towards the back staircase. “No, no,” she answered, “I would rather remain here.” “Are you really frightened, madame?” said Monte Cristo. “Oh, no, sir,” said Madame Danglars; “but you suppose scenes in a manner which gives them the appearance of reality.” 30223m “Ah, yes,” said Monte Cristo smiling; “it is all a matter of imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of an honest mother? And this bed with red hangings, a bed visited by the goddess Lucina? And that mysterious staircase, the passage through which, not to disturb their sleep, the doctor and nurse pass, or even the father carrying the sleeping child?” Here Madame Danglars, instead of being calmed by the soft picture, uttered a groan and fainted. “Madame Danglars is ill,” said Villefort; “it would be better to take her to her carriage.” “Oh, _mon Dieu!_” said Monte Cristo, “and I have forgotten my smelling-bottle!” “I have mine,” said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over to Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid whose good properties the count had tested on Edward. “Ah,” said Monte Cristo, taking it from her hand. “Yes,” she said, “at your advice I have made the trial.” “And have you succeeded?” “I think so.” Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte Cristo dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon her lips; she returned to consciousness. “Ah,” she cried, “what a frightful dream!” Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a dream. They looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not especially interested in poetical ideas, he had gone into the garden, and was talking with Major Cavalcanti on the projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte Cristo seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglars, and conducted her into the garden, where they found Danglars taking coffee between the Cavalcanti. “Really, madame,” he said, “did I alarm you much?” “Oh, no, sir,” she answered; “but you know, things impress us differently, according to the mood of our minds.” Villefort forced a laugh. “And then, you know,” he said, “an idea, a supposition, is sufficient.” “Well,” said Monte Cristo, “you may believe me if you like, but it is my opinion that a crime has been committed in this house.” “Take care,” said Madame de Villefort, “the king’s attorney is here.” “Ah,” replied Monte Cristo, “since that is the case, I will take advantage of his presence to make my declaration.” “Your declaration?” said Villefort. “Yes, before witnesses.” “Oh, this is very interesting,” said Debray; “if there really has been a crime, we will investigate it.” “There has been a crime,” said Monte Cristo. “Come this way, gentlemen; come, M. Villefort, for a declaration to be available, should be made before the competent authorities.” He then took Villefort’s arm, and, at the same time, holding that of Madame Danglars under his own, he dragged the procureur to the plantain-tree, where the shade was thickest. All the other guests followed. “Stay,” said Monte Cristo, “here, in this very spot” (and he stamped upon the ground), “I had the earth dug up and fresh mould put in, to refresh these old trees; well, my man, digging, found a box, or rather, the iron-work of a box, in the midst of which was the skeleton of a newly born infant.” 30225m Monte Cristo felt the arm of Madame Danglars stiffen, while that of Villefort trembled. “A newly born infant,” repeated Debray; “this affair becomes serious!” “Well,” said Château-Renaud, “I was not wrong just now then, when I said that houses had souls and faces like men, and that their exteriors carried the impress of their characters. This house was gloomy because it was remorseful: it was remorseful because it concealed a crime.” “Who said it was a crime?” asked Villefort, with a last effort. “How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?” cried Monte Cristo. “And pray what do you call such an action?” “But who said it was buried alive?” “Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never been a cemetery.” “What is done to infanticides in this country?” asked Major Cavalcanti innocently. “Oh, their heads are soon cut off,” said Danglars. “Ah, indeed?” said Cavalcanti. “I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?” asked Monte Cristo. “Yes, count,” replied Villefort, in a voice now scarcely human. Monte Cristo, seeing that the two persons for whom he had prepared this scene could scarcely endure it, and not wishing to carry it too far, said: “Come, gentlemen,—some coffee, we seem to have forgotten it,” and he conducted the guests back to the table on the lawn. “Indeed, count,” said Madame Danglars, “I am ashamed to own it, but all your frightful stories have so upset me, that I must beg you to let me sit down;” and she fell into a chair. Monte Cristo bowed, and went to Madame de Villefort. “I think Madame Danglars again requires your bottle,” he said. But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend, the procureur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, “I must speak to you.” “When?” “Tomorrow.” “Where?” “In my office, or in the court, if you like,—that is the surest place.” “I will be there.” At this moment Madame de Villefort approached. “Thanks, my dear friend,” said Madame Danglars, trying to smile; “it is over now, and I am much better.” Chapter 64. The Beggar The evening passed on; Madame de Villefort expressed a desire to return to Paris, which Madame Danglars had not dared to do, notwithstanding the uneasiness she experienced. On his wife’s request, M. de Villefort was the first to give the signal of departure. He offered a seat in his landau to Madame Danglars, that she might be under the care of his wife. As for M. Danglars, absorbed in an interesting conversation with M. Cavalcanti, he paid no attention to anything that was passing. While Monte Cristo had begged the smelling-bottle of Madame de Villefort, he had noticed the approach of Villefort to Madame Danglars, and he soon guessed all that had passed between them, though the words had been uttered in so low a voice as hardly to be heard by Madame Danglars. Without opposing their arrangements, he allowed Morrel, Château-Renaud, and Debray to leave on horseback, and the ladies in M. de Villefort’s carriage. Danglars, more and more delighted with Major Cavalcanti, had offered him a seat in his carriage. Andrea Cavalcanti found his tilbury waiting at the door; the groom, in every respect a caricature of the English fashion, was standing on tiptoe to hold a large iron-gray horse. Andrea had spoken very little during dinner; he was an intelligent lad, and he feared to utter some absurdity before so many grand people, amongst whom, with dilating eyes, he saw the king’s attorney. Then he had been seized upon by Danglars, who, with a rapid glance at the stiff-necked old major and his modest son, and taking into consideration the hospitality of the count, made up his mind that he was in the society of some nabob come to Paris to finish the worldly education of his heir. He contemplated with unspeakable delight the large diamond which shone on the major’s little finger; for the major, like a prudent man, in case of any accident happening to his bank-notes, had immediately converted them into an available asset. Then, after dinner, on the pretext of business, he questioned the father and son upon their mode of living; and the father and son, previously informed that it was through Danglars the one was to receive his 48,000 francs and the other 50,000 livres annually, were so full of affability that they would have shaken hands even with the banker’s servants, so much did their gratitude need an object to expend itself upon. One thing above all the rest heightened the respect, nay almost the veneration, of Danglars for Cavalcanti. The latter, faithful to the principle of Horace, _nil admirari_, had contented himself with showing his knowledge by declaring in what lake the best lampreys were caught. Then he had eaten some without saying a word more; Danglars, therefore, concluded that such luxuries were common at the table of the illustrious descendant of the Cavalcanti, who most likely in Lucca fed upon trout brought from Switzerland, and lobsters sent from England, by the same means used by the count to bring the lampreys from Lake Fusaro, and the sterlet from the Volga. Thus it was with much politeness of manner that he heard Cavalcanti pronounce these words: “Tomorrow, sir, I shall have the honor of waiting upon you on business.” “And I, sir,” said Danglars, “shall be most happy to receive you.” Upon which he offered to take Cavalcanti in his carriage to the Hôtel des Princes, if it would not be depriving him of the company of his son. To this Cavalcanti replied by saying that for some time past his son had lived independently of him, that he had his own horses and carriages, and that not having come together, it would not be difficult for them to leave separately. The major seated himself, therefore, by the side of Danglars, who was more and more charmed with the ideas of order and economy which ruled this man, and yet who, being able to allow his son 60,000 francs a year, might be supposed to possess a fortune of 500,000 or 600,000 livres. As for Andrea, he began, by way of showing off, to scold his groom, who, instead of bringing the tilbury to the steps of the house, had taken it to the outer door, thus giving him the trouble of walking thirty steps to reach it. The groom heard him with humility, took the bit of the impatient animal with his left hand, and with the right held out the reins to Andrea, who, taking them from him, rested his polished boot lightly on the step.