CHAPTER XXIII
THE CRISIS
"At last," cried the Marquis of Fougereuse, when he heard of Fanfaro'ssudden death, and in great good humor he went in search of his wife.
"Madeleine!" he exclaimed, "all our troubles are at an end now; he whostood between us and fortune is dead."
"Of whom are you speaking?"
"Of whom else but that common regicide."
"What, of that Fanfaro who lately had the audacity to come into ourparlor and create that terrible scene?"
"Of him--he is dead."
"Heaven be praised. We shall now receive the legacy."
"Without a doubt. All that is now necessary is to get Girdel to speak,and that can be easily arranged. He has only to repeat before witnesseswhat he has told me already."
"I had hardly dared to hope any more that this dream would be realized,"said Madeleine. "The cabinet position is now sure, and our son has abrilliant future before him. Where is Frederic staying? He has been gonealready several hours."
The marquis paid no attention to Madeleine's last words. He wasthinking about Simon and the great service the latter had done for him.
"Where can Simon be?" he uneasily remarked, "I have not seen him in twodays."
"Bah! he will turn up, let us rather speak about our son. I--"
A knock was heard at the door.
"Come in," said the marquis expectantly; but instead of Simon, as hethought, a servant entered.
"My lord," he stammered, "the vicomte--"
"Ah, he is outside!" cried the marquise eagerly; "tell the vicomte weare awaiting him."
Saying which she advanced toward the door. The servant, however,prevented her from opening it, and placing his hand on the knob, hehesitatingly said:
"Madame--I--"
"What do you mean?" cried the marquise, angrily. "You announce thevicomte and lock the door instead of opening it?"
"My lord," said the servant, turning to the marquis.
The expression of the man's face was such that the nobleman felt hisheart stand still with terror, and in a faint voice he stammered:
"Madeleine, let Baptiste speak."
"The--vicomte--is dead," stammered Baptiste.
A cry of despair came from the marquise's lips, while the unfortunatefather looked at the messenger in a daze. He did not seem to know whatwas the matter.
But soon the terrible significance of the words was made clear to him.Heavy steps were heard in the corridor. They ceased at the door, andnow--now four men entered the parlor and laid gently on the floor theburden they had been carrying. The burden was a bier, covered with acloth, under which could be seen the outlines of a human form.
Neither the marquis nor Madeleine had the courage to raise the cover. Ina daze they both stared at the bier and the pallbearers, and only whenGaston de Ferrette, Talizac's friend, stepped on the threshold of thedoor did life return to the unhappy parents.
"Gaston, what has happened?" cried the marquis in despair, as heimploringly held his hand toward the young man.
"He is dead," replied Gaston, in a hollow voice.
"Who is dead? For Heaven's sake speak!" moaned Madeleine.
"Your son, the Vicomte de Talizac, fell in a duel," said Gaston,earnestly.
Madeleine uttered a loud cry and sank unconscious to the floor. WhileBaptiste and the marquise's maid hurried to her assistance, Fougereusegazed vacantly before him, and then raising his head, he passionatelyexclaimed:
"You lie--my son had no duel!"
"Would to God you were right, marquis," replied Gaston, sorrowfully;"unfortunately it is the truth. The vicomte and Arthur de Montferrandfought a duel, and the sword of the latter ran through Talizac's heart!"
The marquis still remained unconvinced, and carefully gliding toward thebier, he shoved the cloth aside with a trembling hand.
Yes, it was his son who lay on the bier. The pale face was stiff andcold. The eyes were glassy and on the breast was a deep red wound.
The marquis uttered a hoarse cry and his hand nervously grasped thecloth. His eyes shone feverishly and he stammered forth disconnectedsentences.
Gaston de Ferrette consoled the unhappy father, but his words made noimpression, and as Madeleine had in the meantime been brought back toconsciousness by her maid, Gaston thought it best to go away for thepresent.
He softly strode to the door, but had hardly reached it when the marquissprang up, and, laying his hand heavily on the young man's shoulder,said:
"Do not leave this room. I must know how he died."
A wink from Gaston sent the servants away, and as soon as he was alonewith the parents he began his story.
"The vicomte sent his seconds to Arthur de Montferrand," he said; "themotive for the duel was to be kept secret by both combatants, and I ofcourse had nothing to say to this. The meeting was agreed upon for thismorning and took place in the Bois de Boulogne. When the vicomte arrivedon the spot, he was so terribly excited that the seconds thought ittheir duty to ask for a postponement of the affair. This proposition wasagreed to by Monsieur de Montferrand, but the vicomte firmly opposed it.We tried in vain to change his determination. He became angry, accusedhis seconds of cowardice, and threatened to horsewhip them. Under suchcircumstances nothing could be done. The distance was measured off andthe duel began. The vicomte was already lost after the first tourney. Inhis passion he ran upon his opponent's sword, the blade of whichpenetrated his heart, and death immediately followed."
Pale, with eyes wide open, the marquis and Madeleine listened toGaston's story. The marquise clinched her fist and angrily exclaimed:
"My son has been murdered, and I will avenge him!"
The marquis remained silent, but his silence made a deeper impression onthe young man than Madeleine's anger.
"Did my son leave any letter?" asked the marquise, suddenly.
"Yes, my lady. Before we rode to the Bois de Boulogne the vicomte gaveme a sealed letter, which I was to give to his parents in case of hisdeath."
The young man thereupon handed the marquise the letter. Madeleine torethe envelope with a trembling hand. There were only a few lines:
"You have brought me up badly. You are the cause of my death. I hate you!"
A terrible laugh, the laugh of madness, came from the marquise's breast,and, rushing upon her husband, she held the paper before his eyes.
"Read," she cried, "read these words, which our only child sends us fromhis grave. He hates us--ha, ha, ha!--hates--hates!"
The cup of sorrow caused the marquise to become unconscious again, andthis time Gaston ordered the servants to take her away. Madeleine wascarried to her bedroom, and Gaston, who saw the marquis kneeling at hisson's bier, noiselessly went away.
Hardly had he left the room, when the door was slowly opened and agray-haired man entered. He saw the grief-stricken father beside hisson's corpse, and an expression of deep sympathy crossed his stony face.Softly walking behind the marquis, he laid his hand upon his shoulder.Fougereuse looked up and an expression of dumb terror appeared on hisfeatures, while he tremblingly murmured: "Pierre Labarre!"
Yes, it was really Pierre Labarre who had accompanied Caillette andLouise to Paris, and had heard there that Fanfaro's trial had begun. Assoon as he could he hurried to the court house and heard there what hadhappened. Several physicians stood about the so suddenly deceased youngman, and they declared that death was brought about by the bursting of avein.
Crushed and annihilated, Pierre Labarre hurried to the Fougereusemansion, and the marquis trembled at sight of him, as if he were aspectre.
"Pierre Labarre," he cried in a hollow voice, "you come to gloat over mygrief. Ah, you can triumph now. I know you are glad at my misfortune.Get out!" he suddenly exclaimed in angry tones, "get out, I have nothingto do with you!"
"But I have with you, marquis," replied Pierre calmly. "I have somethingto tell you, and you will listen to me!"
"Aha! have you finally become reasonable?" mockingly laughed themarqu
is. "Now you will no longer dare to prevent me from claiming myrights or dispute my legal title."
"No," replied Pierre, sorrowfully; "the real Vicomte de Talizac is dead,and from to-day on you are for me the Marquis of Fougereuse."
"I do not understand you," said the marquis, confused. "What has thedeath of my son got to do with my title?"
"I do not speak of the son who lies here a corpse, but of the other--"
"Which other?" asked the nobleman, more and more surprised.
"You will soon understand me--it is about Fanfaro--"
"Ah, I could have thought so; to his death I owe the fact that PierreLabarre calls me the Marquis of Fougereuse, and that now that no one isliving to whom he can give the hidden millions he must necessarilydeliver them up to me!"
With a mixture of surprise and horror Pierre looked at the man, whocould still think of money and money matters in the presence of his deadson.
"Why do you not speak?" continued the marquis, mockingly. "You are, nodoubt, sorrowful at the death of Fanfaro, whom you imagine to be thelegitimate heir of the Fougereuse? Yes, I cannot help you; gone is gone;and if it interests you, you can learn how Fanfaro came to his death. Ikilled him!"
"Impossible--do not say that!" cried Pierre Labarre in terror. "Say thatit was a joke, my lord, or a misunderstanding. You did not kill him!"
"And why not?" asked the nobleman. "Yes, I got rid of him; I hired themurderer, who freed me of him! Ha! ha! ha! I knew who Fanfaro was--Irecognized him immediately on account of his resemblance to my fatherand my brother, and as he stood in my way I got rid of him by means ofpoison! What are you staring at? I really believe you are gettingchildish in your old age!"
Pale as a ghost, Pierre leaned against the wall, and his hand wasclasped over his eyes, as if he wished to shut the marquis out of hissight.
"Unhappy father," he murmured, in a broken voice; "would to Godsomebody took the duty off my hands of telling you what you have done."
"Spare your pity," said Fougereuse, proudly; "if anything can console mefor the death of my son, it is the knowledge that my brother Jules'sson, who was always a thorn in my side, is at last out of the way."
"For Heaven's sake be silent: this Fanfaro was not your brother's son!"
"So much the worse!"
"My lord, in the presence of this corpse which lies before us, I beseechyou do not blaspheme, and listen to what I have to say. Do you recollectthe village of Sachemont?"
"Sachemont?" repeated Fougereuse, pensively.
"Yes--Sachemont. On the 16th of May, 1804, you and another officer tooklodgings in the cottage of a peasant in Sachemont. You were running awayfrom France. You had taken part in Cadoudal's conspiracy, and barelyescaped from the hands of the officers of the law. The peasant receivedyou hospitably, and, in return, the wretches insulted their host'sdaughters. One of the officers, a German, was repulsed by the young girlhe had impudently approached, but the other one, a Frenchman, tookadvantage of the other sister, and after committing the dastardlyoutrage, he ran away with his companion. Marquis, shall I name you theman who acted so meanly? It was the then Vicomte de Talizac!"
Fougereuse looked at the old servant in amazement. Where had PierreLabarre found all this out?
"The nobleman left the cottage like a thief in the night, and leftbehind him despair and shame," continued Pierre; "and this despairincreased when the unhappy victim of the Vicomte de Talizac gave birthto a son, about the commencement of the year 1805--"
"Go on! What else?" asked Fougereuse, mockingly, as Pierre paused.
"The unhappy girl died, and the child, which had neither father normother, stood alone in the world," said the old man softly; "it wouldhave died wretchedly if a brave and noble man had not made good themisfortune another caused. Jules de Fougereuse, the brother of theVicomte de Talizac, married, under the name of Jules Fougeres, thesister of the dead woman, and both of them took care of the child. Theybrought the boy up as if he had been their own, and in the village ofLeigoutte no one suspected that little Jacques was only an adoptedchild. In the year 1814 you induced the Cossacks to destroy Leigoutte.Jules Fougeres, your only brother, died the death of a hero, and if thewife and children of the victim did not get burned to death, as wasintended, it was not the fault of the instigator of the bloody drama."
This time the nobleman did not reply mockingly; pale and trembling hegazed at Pierre Labarre, and cold drops of perspiration stood on hisforehead.
"My information is at an end," said the old man now, as he advanced astep nearer to the nobleman. "Fanfaro and Jacques Fougeres are identicalwith the Vicomte de Talizac's son."
"It is a lie," hissed Fougereuse, "this Fanfaro was my brother's son;tell your fables to others."
Instead of answering, Pierre Labarre searched in his breast-pocket andhanded the marquis a package of papers. With trembling hands Fougereuseopened the ones on top and tried to read, but a veil was before hiseyes and he tremblingly said:
"Read them, Pierre, I cannot see anything."
Pierre read the following aloud:
"I, Jules de Fougereuse, elder son of the marquis of the same name, swear that the child, Jacques Fougeres, which is supposed to be my own and bears the name of Fougeres, which I at present answer to, is not my son, but the son of my sister-in-law Therese Lemaire, and my brother, the Vicomte de Talizac.
"JULES FOUGERES."
"Those words have been written by some unmitigated liar!" cried themarquis. "Pierre Labarre, say that it is not true, or else--I must havepoisoned my own son!"
"Would to God I could say no," replied Pierre, shuddering, "but Icannot! Fanfaro was your son--his blood lies on your head!"
"No! no!" cried the marquis, pale as death; "his blood will not fallupon me, but upon the devil who led me to do the dastardly deed."
"His name?" asked Pierre.
"Is Simon--my steward! He advised me to poison Fanfaro, so that I couldforce you to give up the legacy. I acceded to his proposition, and hecommitted the deed."
Pierre looked contemptuously at the coward who did not hesitate to throwthe responsibility of the terrible deed on his servant.
"I am going now," he said, coldly; "I have nothing more to do here."
"No, remain. Do not leave me alone with the dead--I am frightened!"whined the marquis.
"I must go. I want to look after your other dead son," replied Pierre.
"Ah, take me along! Let me see him, let me beg forgiveness of the corpseagainst which I have sinned so," implored the broken-down man.
Pierre thought for a while, and then said earnestly:
"Come then--you are right."
"Thanks, a thousand thanks! But tell me, Pierre, what will become of thefortune you have in safe keeping. It exists yet, I hope?"
Labarre trembled with contemptuous rage; the man before him was moremercenary and wicked than he thought could be possible. He buried bothhis sons almost at the same hour, but he still found time andopportunity to inquire about the legacy for which he had made so manysacrifices.
"Well," exclaimed Fougereuse impatiently, "tell me, where are themillions of my father?"
"In a safe place," replied Pierre dryly.
"God be praised! I could draw a million then this evening?"
"My God, marquis! do you need a million to confess your sins?"
"Later! Later! Now answer me, when can I get the million?"
"To-morrow; the documents and bonds are deposited with a lawyer here."
"So much the better."
The marquis hurried to his writing-table, wrote a few lines and rang.
"Here, this note must be brought at once to Count Fernando deVelletri," he said to Baptiste. "Wait for an answer and bring it at onceto me; you will find me in the court-house."
While the servant was hurrying away, the marquis hastily put on a cloak,and left the house with Labarre.
The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II Page 23