Part 155

“They will not be strangers, they will be friends.” “Ah, but the friends of today are the enemies of tomorrow; Beauchamp, for instance.” “So you recommend——” “I recommend you to be prudent.” “Then you advise me to go alone to Beauchamp?” “I do, and I will tell you why. When you wish to obtain some concession from a man’s self-love, you must avoid even the appearance of wishing to wound it.” “I believe you are right.” “I am glad of it.” “Then I will go alone.” “Go; but you would do better still by not going at all.” “That is impossible.” “Do so, then; it will be a wiser plan than the first which you proposed.” “But if, in spite of all my precautions, I am at last obliged to fight, will you not be my second?” “My dear viscount,” said Monte Cristo gravely, “you must have seen before today that at all times and in all places I have been at your disposal, but the service which you have just demanded of me is one which it is out of my power to render you.” “Why?” “Perhaps you may know at some future period, and in the mean time I request you to excuse my declining to put you in possession of my reasons.” “Well, I will have Franz and Château-Renaud; they will be the very men for it.” “Do so, then.” “But if I do fight, you will surely not object to giving me a lesson or two in shooting and fencing?” “That, too, is impossible.” “What a singular being you are!—you will not interfere in anything.” “You are right—that is the principle on which I wish to act.” “We will say no more about it, then. Good-bye, count.” Morcerf took his hat, and left the room. He found his carriage at the door, and doing his utmost to restrain his anger he went at once to find Beauchamp, who was in his office. It was a gloomy, dusty-looking apartment, such as journalists’ offices have always been from time immemorial. The servant announced M. Albert de Morcerf. Beauchamp repeated the name to himself, as though he could scarcely believe that he had heard aright, and then gave orders for him to be admitted. Albert entered. Beauchamp uttered an exclamation of surprise on seeing his friend leap over and trample under foot all the newspapers which were strewed about the room. “This way, this way, my dear Albert!” said he, holding out his hand to the young man. “Are you out of your senses, or do you come peaceably to take breakfast with me? Try and find a seat—there is one by that geranium, which is the only thing in the room to remind me that there are other leaves in the world besides leaves of paper.” “Beauchamp,” said Albert, “it is of your journal that I come to speak.” “Indeed? What do you wish to say about it?” “I desire that a statement contained in it should be rectified.” “To what do you refer? But pray sit down.” “Thank you,” said Albert, with a cold and formal bow. “Will you now have the kindness to explain the nature of the statement which has displeased you?” “An announcement has been made which implicates the honor of a member of my family.” “What is it?” said Beauchamp, much surprised; “surely you must be mistaken.” “The story sent you from Yanina.” “Yanina?” “Yes; really you appear to be totally ignorant of the cause which brings me here.” “Such is really the case, I assure you, upon my honor! Baptiste, give me yesterday’s paper,” cried Beauchamp. “Here, I have brought mine with me,” replied Albert. Beauchamp took the paper, and read the article to which Albert pointed in an undertone. “You see it is a serious annoyance,” said Morcerf, when Beauchamp had finished the perusal of the paragraph. “Is the officer referred to a relation of yours, then?” demanded the journalist. “Yes,” said Albert, blushing. “Well, what do you wish me to do for you?” said Beauchamp mildly. “My dear Beauchamp, I wish you to contradict this statement.” Beauchamp looked at Albert with a benevolent expression. “Come,” said he, “this matter will want a good deal of talking over; a retractation is always a serious thing, you know. Sit down, and I will read it again.” Albert resumed his seat, and Beauchamp read, with more attention than at first, the lines denounced by his friend. “Well,” said Albert in a determined tone, “you see that your paper has insulted a member of my family, and I insist on a retractation being made.” “You insist?” “Yes, I insist.” “Permit me to remind you that you are not in the Chamber, my dear viscount.” “Nor do I wish to be there,” replied the young man, rising. “I repeat that I am determined to have the announcement of yesterday contradicted. You have known me long enough,” continued Albert, biting his lips convulsively, for he saw that Beauchamp’s anger was beginning to rise,—“you have been my friend, and therefore sufficiently intimate with me to be aware that I am likely to maintain my resolution on this point.” “If I have been your friend, Morcerf, your present manner of speaking would almost lead me to forget that I ever bore that title. But wait a moment, do not let us get angry, or at least not yet. You are irritated and vexed—tell me how this Fernand is related to you?” “He is merely my father,” said Albert—“M. Fernand Mondego, Count of Morcerf, an old soldier who has fought in twenty battles and whose honorable scars they would denounce as badges of disgrace.” “Is it your father?” said Beauchamp; “that is quite another thing. Then I can well understand your indignation, my dear Albert. I will look at it again;” and he read the paragraph for the third time, laying a stress on each word as he proceeded. “But the paper nowhere identifies this Fernand with your father.” 40100m “No; but the connection will be seen by others, and therefore I will have the article contradicted.” At the words _I will_, Beauchamp steadily raised his eyes to Albert’s countenance, and then as gradually lowering them, he remained thoughtful for a few moments. “You will retract this assertion, will you not, Beauchamp?” said Albert with increased though stifled anger. “Yes,” replied Beauchamp. “Immediately?” said Albert. “When I am convinced that the statement is false.” “What?” “The thing is worth looking into, and I will take pains to investigate the matter thoroughly.” “But what is there to investigate, sir?” said Albert, enraged beyond measure at Beauchamp’s last remark. “If you do not believe that it is my father, say so immediately; and if, on the contrary, you believe it to be him, state your reasons for doing so.” Beauchamp looked at Albert with the smile which was so peculiar to him, and which in its numerous modifications served to express every varied emotion of his mind. “Sir,” replied he, “if you came to me with the idea of demanding satisfaction, you should have gone at once to the point, and not have entertained me with the idle conversation to which I have been patiently listening for the last half hour. Am I to put this construction on your visit?” “Yes, if you will not consent to retract that infamous calumny.” “Wait a moment—no threats, if you please, M. Fernand Mondego, Vicomte de Morcerf; I never allow them from my enemies, and therefore shall not put up with them from my friends. You insist on my contradicting the article relating to General Fernand, an article with which, I assure you on my word of honor, I had nothing whatever to do?” “Yes, I insist on it,” said Albert, whose mind was beginning to get bewildered with the excitement of his feelings. “And if I refuse to retract, you wish to fight, do you?” said Beauchamp in a calm tone. “Yes,” replied Albert, raising his voice. “Well,” said Beauchamp, “here is my answer, my dear sir. The article was not inserted by me—I was not even aware of it; but you have, by the step you have taken, called my attention to the paragraph in question, and it will remain until it shall be either contradicted or confirmed by someone who has a right to do so.” “Sir,” said Albert, rising, “I will do myself the honor of sending my seconds to you, and you will be kind enough to arrange with them the place of meeting and the weapons.” “Certainly, my dear sir.” “And this evening, if you please, or tomorrow at the latest, we will meet.” “No, no, I will be on the ground at the proper time; but in my opinion (and I have a right to dictate the preliminaries, as it is I who have received the provocation)—in my opinion the time ought not to be yet. I know you to be well skilled in the management of the sword, while I am only moderately so; I know, too, that you are a good marksman—there we are about equal. I know that a duel between us two would be a serious affair, because you are brave, and I am brave also. I do not therefore wish either to kill you, or to be killed myself without a cause. Now, I am going to put a question to you, and one very much to the purpose too. Do you insist on this retractation so far as to kill me if I do not make it, although I have repeated more than once, and affirmed on my honor, that I was ignorant of the thing with which you charge me, and although I still declare that it is impossible for anyone but you to recognize the Count of Morcerf under the name of Fernand?” “I maintain my original resolution.” “Very well, my dear sir; then I consent to cut throats with you. But I require three weeks’ preparation; at the end of that time I shall come and say to you, ‘The assertion is false, and I retract it,’ or ‘The assertion is true,’ when I shall immediately draw the sword from its sheath, or the pistols from the case, whichever you please.” “Three weeks!” cried Albert; “they will pass as slowly as three centuries when I am all the time suffering dishonor.” “Had you continued to remain on amicable terms with me, I should have said, ‘Patience, my friend;’ but you have constituted yourself my enemy, therefore I say, ‘What does that signify to me, sir?’” “Well, let it be three weeks then,” said Morcerf; “but remember, at the expiration of that time no delay or subterfuge will justify you in——” “M. Albert de Morcerf,” said Beauchamp, rising in his turn, “I cannot throw you out of window for three weeks—that is to say, for twenty-four days to come—nor have you any right to split my skull open till that time has elapsed. Today is the 29th of August; the 21st of September will, therefore, be the conclusion of the term agreed on, and till that time arrives—and it is the advice of a gentleman which I am about to give you—till then we will refrain from growling and barking like two dogs chained within sight of each other.” When he had concluded his speech, Beauchamp bowed coldly to Albert, turned his back upon him, and went to the press-room. Albert vented his anger on a pile of newspapers, which he sent flying all over the office by switching them violently with his stick; after which ebullition he departed—not, however, without walking several times to the door of the press-room, as if he had half a mind to enter. 40104m While Albert was lashing the front of his carriage in the same manner that he had the newspapers which were the innocent agents of his discomfiture, as he was crossing the barrier he perceived Morrel, who was walking with a quick step and a bright eye. He was passing the Chinese Baths, and appeared to have come from the direction of the Porte Saint-Martin, and to be going towards the Madeleine. “Ah,” said Morcerf, “there goes a happy man!” And it so happened Albert was not mistaken in his opinion. Chapter 79. The Lemonade Morrel was, in fact, very happy. M. Noirtier had just sent for him, and he was in such haste to know the reason of his doing so that he had not stopped to take a cab, placing infinitely more dependence on his own two legs than on the four legs of a cab-horse. He had therefore set off at a furious rate from the Rue Meslay, and was hastening with rapid strides in the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Morrel advanced with a firm, manly tread, and poor Barrois followed him as he best might. Morrel was only thirty-one, Barrois was sixty years of age; Morrel was deeply in love, and Barrois was dying with heat and exertion. These two men, thus opposed in age and interests, resembled two parts of a triangle, presenting the extremes of separation, yet nevertheless possessing their point of union. This point of union was Noirtier, and it was he who had just sent for Morrel, with the request that the latter would lose no time in coming to him—a command which Morrel obeyed to the letter, to the great discomfiture of Barrois. On arriving at the house, Morrel was not even out of breath, for love lends wings to our desires; but Barrois, who had long forgotten what it was to love, was sorely fatigued by the expedition he had been constrained to use.