“Thank you,” replied the Baroness. “You have already handed over to me far more than is required by a poor woman who intends to live in retirement for some time to come.”
Debray was astonished for a moment, but he quickly recovered himself and made a gesture which in the most polite manner possible seemed to imply: “Just as you please.”
Until that moment, Mme Danglars had hoped for something more; but when she saw Debray’s gesture of indifference and the sidelong glance which accompanied it, as well as the profound and significant silence which followed it, she raised her head, opened the door, and calmly and unhesitatingly descended the stairs without even a farewell look at one who could let her leave him in this manner.
Debray quietly waited until Mme Danglars had been gone twenty minutes before he made up his mind to leave, and during all this interval he occupied himself with calculations, his watch by his side.
Above the room where Debray had been dividing his two and a half million francs with Mme Danglars, there was another room in which we shall find friends who have played important parts in the incidents related, friends whose reappearance will cause us pleasure. Mercédès and Albert were there. Mercédès was very much changed in the last few days, not that even in the height of her fortune she had ever dressed with that display of ostentatious magnificence which renders a woman unrecognizable as soon as she appears in simple attire; not that she had lapsed into that state of depression in which one feels constrained to put on again the garments of poverty; no, Mercédès had changed because her eyes had lost their sparkle, her mouth its smile, and to complete all, abashment and perplexity ever arrested on her lips that flow of speech which had issued so easily in former days from her ever ready wit. Poverty had not broken her spirit, and want of courage had not made her poverty appear unendurable to her. Descended from the high position in which she had been living, lost in the new sphere she had chosen like someone passing suddenly from a brilliantly lighted room to utter darkness, Mercédès was like a queen who had stepped from her palace into a hut and could not accustom herself to the earthenware vessels she was obliged to place on the table herself, nor the pallet which had succeeded her bed.
In truth, the beautiful Catalan and noble Countess had lost her proud look and her charming smile, for her eyes saw nothing but what was distasteful and distressing to her. The walls of her room were hung with a dull grey paper chosen by economical landlords because it would not show the dirt; the floor was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted attention by its poor attempt at magnificence; in fact, everything was so gaudy that it was a continual eyesore to anyone accustomed to refinement and elegance. Mme de Morcerf had lived here ever since she left her magnificent house. The perpetual silence oppressed her, but she knew that Albert was secretly watching her to discover the state of her mind, and this forced her lips into the appearance of an empty smile, which, deprived of the warmth infused into it by her eyes, appeared only like a simple ray of light, that is to say, light without heat.
Albert, too, was very moody and ill at ease. The results of a luxurious life hampered him in his present position. When he wanted to go out without gloves, his hands appeared too white; when he wished to go about the town on foot, his boots appeared too elegant. Yet these two noble and intelligent beings, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal and filial love, had succeeded in tacitly understanding one another. Thus they could face bitter facts without their being preceded by softening words. Albert had been able to say: “Mother, we have no more money,” without evoking any visible agitation.
Mercédès had never known what real want was; in her youth she had often spoken of poverty, but it is not the same thing, for between want and necessity there is a wide gulf. When she was at the Catalans, Mercédès wanted a number of things, but she was never in need of the necessaries of life. As long as the nets were good, they caught fish, and as long as they sold fish, they could mend their nets. Devoid of all friendship and having but one great affection which did not enter into her material life, she thought of no one but herself and of nothing but herself. She had managed very well on the little she had, but to-day there were two to manage for and she had nothing with which to do it.
Winter approached. Mercédès, who had been accustomed to a house heated from the hall to her boudoir, had no fire in her cold, bare room; she whose house had been one conservatory of costly exotic plants had not one humble little flower! But she had her son!
Hitherto the excitement of fulfilling a duty, an exaggerated one perhaps, had sustained them, but their enthusiasm had worn off, and they had been compelled to descend from their world of dreams to face stern realities.
“Mother, let us count our wealth, if you please,” Albert was saying at the precise moment that Mme Danglars was descending the staircase. “I must know what it totals before I make my plans.”
“Total: nothing,” said Mercédès with a sad smile.
“Oh, yes it is, Mother! Total: three thousand francs to begin with, and I dare to hope that with this amount we two shall have a very happy time.”
“Child!” said Mercédès.
“Alas, Mother,” said the young man, “I have unfortunately spent too much of your money not to know the value of it. Look you, three thousand francs is an enormous sum, and with it I have planned a secure and wonderful future.”
“You may well say that, my son, but in the first place are we going to accept this money?” said Mercédès, blushing.
“But I thought we had agreed to that,” said Albert, in a firm tone. “We will accept it all the more readily since we have not got it, for as you know it is buried in the little garden in the Allées de Meilhan at Marseilles. Two hundred francs will take the two of us to Marseilles.”
“Two hundred francs? Have you thought it out, Albert?”
“Oh, yes, I have made inquiries with regard to diligences and steamboats, and have made all my calculations. An inside seat in the diligence to Chalon will cost you thirty-five francs. You see, Mother, I am treating you like a queen!”
Albert took his pen and wrote:
Diligence to Chalon 35 francs
From Chalon to Lyons by steamboat 6 ”
From Lyons to Avignon by steamboat 16 ”
From Avignon to Marseilles 7 ”
Incidental expenses 50 ”
114 ”
“Let us say a hundred and twenty,” added Albert, smiling. “Am I not generous, Mother?”
“But what about you, my son?”
“Don’t you see that I have reserved eighty francs for myself ? A young man does not need too much comfort, besides, I am used to travelling.”
“Do as you like. But where are the two hundred francs coming from?”
“Here they are, and two hundred more as well. I have sold my watch for a hundred francs and the seals for three hundred. How fortunate that the seals fetched more than the watch! The same story of superfluities again! See how rich we are! Instead of the necessary hundred and fourteen francs for the journey you have two hundred and fifty.”
“But we owe something here.”
“Thirty francs, which I shall pay out of my hundred and fifty. With care I shall only need eighty francs for my journey, so you see I am wallowing in riches. And it does not end with this. What do you think of this, Mother?”
He took out a small pocket-book with gold clasps and from it a note for one thousand francs.
“What is that?” asked Mercédès.
“A thousand francs, Mother! Oh, it is perfectly genuine.”
“But whence have you obtained them?”
“Listen to what I have to say, Mother, and do not get too agitated.” He went up to his mother and kissed her on both cheeks, then he paused a moment to look at her.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are to me!” said the young man with deep feelings of filial love. “You are truly the most beautiful and the noblest woman I have ever seen!”
“And I shall never be unhappy so long
as I have my son,” replied Mercédès, vainly endeavouring to keep back the tears which would rise to her eyes.
“Just so, but this is where our trial begins,” said Albert. “Mother, do you know what we have decided?”
“Have we decided anything?”
“Yes, we have agreed that you shall live at Marseilles while I go to Africa, where I shall win the right to the name I have adopted in the place of the one I have cast aside. I joined the Spahis yesterday, or rather, I thought that as my body was my own, I could sell it. Yesterday I took the place of another. And I sold myself for more than I thought I was worth,” he continued, trying to smile, “that is to say, for two thousand francs.”
“So these thousand francs . . . ?” inquired Mercédès, trembling.
“It is half the amount, Mother. I shall receive the other half in a year.”
Mercédès raised her eyes to Heaven with an expression which it would be impossible to describe, and the tears lurking in her eyes overflowed with the power of her emotion and silently ran down her cheeks.
“The price of his blood!” she murmured.
“Yes, if I am killed, Mother,” said he laughing. “But I assure you I shall sell my life dearly, for never has it been so precious to me as now. Besides, why should I be killed? Has Lamouricière been killed? Or Changarnier? Or yet again, Morrel, whom we know? Think of your joy, Mother, when I come back dressed in my embroidered uniform! I must own that I shall look splendid in it, and that I chose this regiment from pure vanity!”
Though Mercédès attempted to smile she could not repress a sigh. This devoted mother felt it was wrong of her to let the whole weight of the sacrifice fall upon her son.
“Well, Mother, you understand that this means that you have a sure four thousand francs,” continued Albert, “and you can live on that for two years at least.”
“Do you think so?” said Mercédès mechanically, but in tones of such deep sorrow that the real sense of the words did not escape Albert; he felt his heart grow heavy, and, taking his mother’s hand, he said tenderly: “Oh, yes, you will live!”
“Then you must not leave me, my son.”
“Mother, I must go,” said Albert, in a calm but firm voice. “You love me too much to let me stay idle and useless with you. Besides, I have signed the agreement.”
“Do as you will, my son. I shall do God’s will.”
“It is not as I will, Mother, but according to the dictates of common sense and necessity. We are two despairing creatures, are we not? What is life to you to-day? Nothing! What is it to me? Worth very little without you, Mother, I assure you. But I will live if you promise not to give up hope, and in permitting me to care for your future you give me double strength. Out there in Algeria, I shall go to the Governor, who is a noble-hearted man and essentially a soldier, and shall tell him my story and entreat him to interest himself in me. Then, Mother, I shall either be an officer within six months or else dead. If I am an officer, your future is assured, for I shall have money enough for you and for me, and in addition a name of which we shall both be proud, for it will be your own name. If I am killed . . . then, Mother dear, you also will die, and our misfortunes and sorrows will have an end.”
“As you wish,” replied Mercédès, with a noble and eloquent glance.
“But you must have no morbid thoughts, Mother,” exclaimed the young man. “I assure you we can be very happy. Then it is settled that we separate? We can even begin from to day; I will go and procure your ticket.”
“But what about yours?”
“I must stay on here two or three days longer. It will accustom us to our separation, and I have to gather some information on Africa, and also, I want some introductions before I join you at Marseilles.”
“Well, then, let us go!” said Mercédès, wrapping round her the only shawl she had taken away with her, which happened to be a valuable black cashmere one. “Let us go.”
Albert quickly gathered up his papers, rang for the proprietor, and paid him the thirty francs owing. Then he gave his arm to his mother, and they descended the stairs. Someone was going down in front of them, who, on hearing the rustling of a silk dress against the balustrade, turned round.
“Debray!” murmured Albert.
“You, Morcerf!” replied the minister’s secretary, standing still. Then, noticing in the semi-darkness the veiled and still youthful figure of Mme de Morcerf: “Oh, pardon,” he said with a smile. “I will leave you, Albert.”
Albert understood his thoughts.
“Mother,” said he, turning toward Mercédès, “this is Monsieur Debray, secretary to the Minister of the Interior, and a former friend of mine.”
“Former?” stammered Debray. “Why do you say that?”
“I say that, Monsieur Debray, because to-day I have no more friends and must not have any,” replied Albert. “I thank you, monsieur, for having acknowledged me.”
Debray went up two stairs and cordially shook Albert’s hand as he said with all the feeling of which he was capable: “Believe me, I have felt deep sympathy with you in the misfortune that has befallen you, and if I can serve you in any way, pray call on me to do so.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” said Albert smiling, “but in the midst of our misfortune we are still rich enough to require no outside help. We are leaving Paris, and, after our travelling expenses are paid, we shall still have five thousand francs.”
The colour rose to Debray’s cheeks at the thought of the million francs he had in his pocket-book, and, unimaginative though he was, he could not help reflecting that a few minutes back there were in that house two women: the one, justly dishonoured, had left with 1,500,000 francs under her cloak, while the other one, unjustly smitten, yet superb in her misfortune, considered herself rich with a few francs. This parallel disturbed his usual politeness, the philosophy of the example overwhelmed him; he stammered a few words of general courtesy and quickly ran down the stairs. The minister’s clerks, his subordinates, had to suffer from his ill-humour the rest of the day. In the evening however, he consoled himself by becoming the owner of a splendid house in the Boulevard de la Madeleine, yielding an income of fifty thousand francs.
About five o’clock the next evening, at the very moment when Debray was signing the agreement, Mme de Morcerf entered the diligence after tenderly kissing her son and being as tenderly embraced by him, and was driven away.
A man was hidden behind an arched window of Laffitte’s offices. He saw Mercédès enter the diligence, watched the conveyance drive away, and saw Albert turn back. Then he passed his hand across his wrinkled forehead, saying to himself: “Alas! by what means can I restore to these two innocent beings the happiness I have snatched from them? God will help me.”
Chapter LXVIII
THE JUDGE
It will be remembered that the Abbé Busoni stayed alone with Noirtier in the chamber of death. Perhaps it was the abbé’s Christian exhortations, perhaps his tender compassion, or, maybe, his persuasive words, that gave Noirtier courage; whatever it may have been, certain it is that ever since the day on which he had conversed with the priest, his despair had given way to complete resignation, to the great astonishment of all who knew his deep affection for Valentine.
M. de Villefort had not seen his father since the morning of the tragedy. The whole household had undergone a complete change; another valet had been engaged for himself, a new servant for Noirtier; two women had entered the service of Mme de Villefort: everywhere there were new faces.
The assizes were to be opened in three days, and Villefort spent most of his day closeted in his study preparing his cases, which afforded him the only distraction from his sorrow. Once only had he seen his father. Harassed and fatigued, he had gone into the garden and, deep in gloomy thought, he paced the avenues, lopping off with his cane the long, withering stalks of the hollyhocks, which stood on either side of the path like the ghosts of the brilliantly coloured flowers that had bloomed in the season just passed. More than once
had he reached the bottom of the garden where the famous paling separated it from the deserted enclosure, but he always returned by the selfsame path, and at the same pace. All of a sudden his eyes were involuntarily attracted toward the house, where he heard the noisy play of Edward, who had come home from school to spend the Sunday and Monday with his mother. At the same time he perceived Noirtier at one of the open windows, to which he had had his chair wheeled so that he might enjoy the last warm rays of the sun as they took leave of the red leaves of the Virginia creeper round the balcony.
The old man’s eyes were riveted on a spot which Villefort could only imperfectly distinguish, but their expression was so full of hatred, venom, and impatience that the Procureur du Roi, ever quick to read the impressions on that face that he knew so well, turned out of his path to discover the object of that dark look. He saw Mme de Villefort seated under a clump of lime-trees nearly divested of their foliage. She had a book in her hand which she laid aside from time to time to smile at her son or to return to him his ball, which he persisted in throwing into the garden from the salon. Villefort turned pale, for he understood what was passing through his father’s mind. Noirtier continued to look at the same object, but suddenly his eyes were turned from the wife to the husband, and Villefort himself had to submit to the gaze of those piercing eyes, which, while changing their objective, had also changed their language, but without losing their menacing expression.
Drawn by an irresistible attraction, as a bird is attracted by a snake, Villefort approached the house. Noirtier’s eyes followed him all the while, and the fire they emitted was so fierce that it seemed to pierce him to the very core. Indeed, the look held a deep reproach, and at the same time a terrible menace. He raised his eyes to Heaven as though reminding his son of an unfulfilled promise.
Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 57