The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 30. The Fifth of September

  The extension provided for by the agent of Thomson & French, at themoment when Morrel expected it least, was to the poor shipowner sodecided a stroke of good fortune that he almost dared to believe thatfate was at length grown weary of wasting her spite upon him. The sameday he told his wife, Emmanuel, and his daughter all that had occurred;and a ray of hope, if not of tranquillity, returned to the family.Unfortunately, however, Morrel had not only engagements with the houseof Thomson & French, who had shown themselves so considerate towardshim; and, as he had said, in business he had correspondents, and notfriends. When he thought the matter over, he could by no means accountfor this generous conduct on the part of Thomson & French towards him;and could only attribute it to some such selfish argument as this: “Wehad better help a man who owes us nearly 300,000 francs, and have those300,000 francs at the end of three months than hasten his ruin, and getonly six or eight per cent of our money back again.”

  Unfortunately, whether through envy or stupidity, all Morrel’scorrespondents did not take this view; and some even came to a contrarydecision. The bills signed by Morrel were presented at his office withscrupulous exactitude, and, thanks to the delay granted by theEnglishman, were paid by Cocles with equal punctuality. Cocles thusremained in his accustomed tranquillity. It was Morrel alone whoremembered with alarm, that if he had to repay on the 15th the 50,000francs of M. de Boville, and on the 30th the 32,500 francs of bills, forwhich, as well as the debt due to the inspector of prisons, he had timegranted, he must be a ruined man.

  The opinion of all the commercial men was that, under the reverses whichhad successively weighed down Morrel, it was impossible for him toremain solvent. Great, therefore, was the astonishment when at the endof the month, he cancelled all his obligations with his usualpunctuality. Still confidence was not restored to all minds, and thegeneral opinion was that the complete ruin of the unfortunate shipownerhad been postponed only until the end of the month.

  The month passed, and Morrel made extraordinary efforts to get in allhis resources. Formerly his paper, at any date, was taken withconfidence, and was even in request. Morrel now tried to negotiate billsat ninety days only, and none of the banks would give him credit.Fortunately, Morrel had some funds coming in on which he could rely;and, as they reached him, he found himself in a condition to meet hisengagements when the end of July came.

  The agent of Thomson & French had not been again seen at Marseilles; theday after, or two days after his visit to Morrel, he had disappeared;and as in that city he had had no intercourse but with the mayor, theinspector of prisons, and M. Morrel, his departure left no trace exceptin the memories of these three persons. As to the sailors of thePharaon, they must have found snug berths elsewhere, for they also haddisappeared.

  Captain Gaumard, recovered from his illness, had returned from Palma. Hedelayed presenting himself at Morrel’s, but the owner, hearing of hisarrival, went to see him. The worthy shipowner knew, from Penelon’srecital, of the captain’s brave conduct during the storm, and tried toconsole him. He brought him also the amount of his wages, which CaptainGaumard had not dared to apply for.

  As he descended the staircase, Morrel met Penelon, who was going up.Penelon had, it would seem, made good use of his money, for he was newlyclad. When he saw his employer, the worthy tar seemed much embarrassed,drew on one side into the corner of the landing-place, passed his quidfrom one cheek to the other, stared stupidly with his great eyes, andonly acknowledged the squeeze of the hand which Morrel as usual gave himby a slight pressure in return. Morrel attributed Penelon’sembarrassment to the elegance of his attire; it was evident the goodfellow had not gone to such an expense on his own account; he was, nodoubt, engaged on board some other vessel, and thus his bashfulnessarose from the fact of his not having, if we may so express ourselves,worn mourning for the Pharaon longer. Perhaps he had come to tellCaptain Gaumard of his good luck, and to offer him employment from hisnew master.

  “Worthy fellows!” said Morrel, as he went away, “may your new masterlove you as I loved you, and be more fortunate than I have been!”

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  August rolled by in unceasing efforts on the part of Morrel to renew hiscredit or revive the old. On the 20th of August it was known atMarseilles that he had left town in the mailcoach, and then it was saidthat the bills would go to protest at the end of the month, and thatMorrel had gone away and left his chief clerk Emmanuel, and his cashierCocles, to meet the creditors. But, contrary to all expectation, whenthe 31st of August came, the house opened as usual, and Cocles appearedbehind the grating of the counter, examined all bills presented with theusual scrutiny, and, from first to last, paid all with the usualprecision. There came in, moreover, two drafts which M. Morrel had fullyanticipated, and which Cocles paid as punctually as the bills which theshipowner had accepted. All this was incomprehensible, and then, withthe tenacity peculiar to prophets of bad news, the failure was put offuntil the end of September.

  On the 1st, Morrel returned; he was awaited by his family with extremeanxiety, for from this journey to Paris they hoped great things. Morrelhad thought of Danglars, who was now immensely rich, and had lain undergreat obligations to Morrel in former days, since to him it was owingthat Danglars entered the service of the Spanish banker, with whom hehad laid the foundations of his vast wealth. It was said at this momentthat Danglars was worth from six to eight millions of francs, and hadunlimited credit. Danglars, then, without taking a crown from hispocket, could save Morrel; he had but to pass his word for a loan, andMorrel was saved. Morrel had long thought of Danglars, but had kept awayfrom some instinctive motive, and had delayed as long as possibleavailing himself of this last resource. And Morrel was right, for hereturned home crushed by the humiliation of a refusal.

  Yet, on his arrival, Morrel did not utter a complaint, or say one harshword. He embraced his weeping wife and daughter, pressed Emmanuel’s handwith friendly warmth, and then going to his private room on the secondfloor had sent for Cocles.

  “Then,” said the two women to Emmanuel, “we are indeed ruined.”

  It was agreed in a brief council held among them, that Julie shouldwrite to her brother, who was in garrison at Nîmes, to come to them asspeedily as possible. The poor women felt instinctively that theyrequired all their strength to support the blow that impended. Besides,Maximilian Morrel, though hardly two-and-twenty, had great influenceover his father.

  He was a strong-minded, upright young man. At the time when he decidedon his profession his father had no desire to choose for him, but hadconsulted young Maximilian’s taste. He had at once declared for amilitary life, and had in consequence studied hard, passed brilliantlythrough the Polytechnic School, and left it as sub-lieutenant of the53rd of the line. For a year he had held this rank, and expectedpromotion on the first vacancy. In his regiment Maximilian Morrel wasnoted for his rigid observance, not only of the obligations imposed on asoldier, but also of the duties of a man; and he thus gained the name of“the stoic.” We need hardly say that many of those who gave him thisepithet repeated it because they had heard it, and did not even knowwhat it meant.

  This was the young man whom his mother and sister called to their aid tosustain them under the serious trial which they felt they would soonhave to endure. They had not mistaken the gravity of this event, for themoment after Morrel had entered his private office with Cocles, Juliesaw the latter leave it pale, trembling, and his features betraying theutmost consternation. She would have questioned him as he passed by her,but the worthy creature hastened down the staircase with unusualprecipitation, and only raised his hands to heaven and exclaimed:

  “Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, what a dreadful misfortune! Who couldever have believed it!”

  A moment afterwards Julie saw him go upstairs carrying two or threeheavy ledgers, a portfolio, and a bag of money.

  Morrel examined the ledgers, opened the portfolio, and counted themoney. All his funds amounted to 6,000 or
8,000 francs, his billsreceivable up to the 5th to 4,000 or 5,000, which, making the best ofeverything, gave him 14,000 francs to meet debts amounting to 287,500francs. He had not even the means for making a possible settlement onaccount.

  However, when Morrel went down to his dinner, he appeared very calm.This calmness was more alarming to the two women than the deepestdejection would have been. After dinner Morrel usually went out and usedto take his coffee at the club of the Phocéens, and read the Semaphore;this day he did not leave the house, but returned to his office.

  As to Cocles, he seemed completely bewildered. For part of the day hewent into the courtyard, seated himself on a stone with his head bareand exposed to the blazing sun. Emmanuel tried to comfort the women, buthis eloquence faltered. The young man was too well acquainted with thebusiness of the house, not to feel that a great catastrophe hung overthe Morrel family. Night came, the two women had watched, hoping thatwhen he left his room Morrel would come to them, but they heard him passbefore their door, and trying to conceal the noise of his footsteps.They listened; he went into his sleeping-room, and fastened the doorinside. Madame Morrel sent her daughter to bed, and half an hour afterJulie had retired, she rose, took off her shoes, and went stealthilyalong the passage, to see through the keyhole what her husband wasdoing.

  In the passage she saw a retreating shadow; it was Julie, who, uneasyherself, had anticipated her mother. The young lady went towards MadameMorrel.

  “He is writing,” she said.

  They had understood each other without speaking. Madame Morrel lookedagain through the keyhole, Morrel was writing; but Madame Morrelremarked, what her daughter had not observed, that her husband waswriting on stamped paper. The terrible idea that he was writing his willflashed across her; she shuddered, and yet had not strength to utter aword.

  Next day M. Morrel seemed as calm as ever, went into his office asusual, came to his breakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, heplaced his daughter beside him, took her head in his arms, and held herfor a long time against his bosom. In the evening, Julie told hermother, that although he was apparently so calm, she had noticed thather father’s heart beat violently.

  The next two days passed in much the same way. On the evening of the 4thof September, M. Morrel asked his daughter for the key of his study.Julie trembled at this request, which seemed to her of bad omen. Why didher father ask for this key which she always kept, and which was onlytaken from her in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked atMorrel.

  “What have I done wrong, father,” she said, “that you should take thiskey from me?”

  “Nothing, my dear,” replied the unhappy man, the tears starting to hiseyes at this simple question,—“nothing, only I want it.”

  Julie made a pretence to feel for the key. “I must have left it in myroom,” she said.

  And she went out, but instead of going to her apartment she hastened toconsult Emmanuel.

  “Do not give this key to your father,” said he, “and tomorrow morning,if possible, do not quit him for a moment.”

  She questioned Emmanuel, but he knew nothing, or would not say what heknew.

  During the night, between the 4th and 5th of September, Madame Morrelremained listening for every sound, and, until three o’clock in themorning, she heard her husband pacing the room in great agitation. Itwas three o’clock when he threw himself on the bed. The mother anddaughter passed the night together. They had expected Maximilian sincethe previous evening. At eight o’clock in the morning Morrel enteredtheir chamber. He was calm; but the agitation of the night was legiblein his pale and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he hadslept. Morrel was kinder to his wife, more affectionate to his daughter,than he had ever been. He could not cease gazing at and kissing thesweet girl. Julie, mindful of Emmanuel’s request, was following herfather when he quitted the room, but he said to her quickly:

  “Remain with your mother, dearest.” Julie wished to accompany him. “Iwish you to do so,” said he.

  This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he said it in atone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not dare to disobey. Sheremained at the same spot standing mute and motionless. An instantafterwards the door opened, she felt two arms encircle her, and a mouthpressed her forehead. She looked up and uttered an exclamation of joy.

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  “Maximilian, my dearest brother!” she cried.

  At these words Madame Morrel rose, and threw herself into her son’sarms.

  “Mother,” said the young man, looking alternately at Madame Morrel andher daughter, “what has occurred—what has happened? Your letter hasfrightened me, and I have come hither with all speed.”

  “Julie,” said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man, “go andtell your father that Maximilian has just arrived.”

  The young lady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of thestaircase she found a man holding a letter in his hand.

  “Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?” inquired the man, with a strongItalian accent.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Julie with hesitation; “what is your pleasure? I donot know you.”

  “Read this letter,” he said, handing it to her. Julie hesitated. “Itconcerns the best interests of your father,” said the messenger.

  The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened it quicklyand read:

  “Go this moment to the Allées de Meilhan, enter the house No. 15, askthe porter for the key of the room on the fifth floor, enter theapartment, take from the corner of the mantelpiece a purse netted in redsilk, and give it to your father. It is important that he should receiveit before eleven o’clock. You promised to obey me implicitly. Rememberyour oath.

  “Sinbad the Sailor.”

  The young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked round toquestion the messenger, but he had disappeared. She cast her eyes againover the note to peruse it a second time, and saw there was apostscript. She read:

  “It is important that you should fulfil this mission in person andalone. If you go accompanied by any other person, or should anyone elsego in your place, the porter will reply that he does not know anythingabout it.”

  This postscript decreased greatly the young girl’s happiness. Was therenothing to fear? was there not some snare laid for her? Her innocencehad kept her in ignorance of the dangers that might assail a young girlof her age. But there is no need to know danger in order to fear it;indeed, it may be observed, that it is usually unknown perils thatinspire the greatest terror.

  Julie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through a singularimpulse, it was neither to her mother nor her brother that she applied,but to Emmanuel. She hastened down and told him what had occurred on theday when the agent of Thomson & French had come to her father’s, relatedthe scene on the staircase, repeated the promise she had made, andshowed him the letter.

  “You must go, then, mademoiselle,” said Emmanuel.

  “Go there?” murmured Julie.

  “Yes; I will accompany you.”

  “But did you not read that I must be alone?” said Julie.

  “And you shall be alone,” replied the young man. “I will await you atthe corner of the Rue du Musée, and if you are so long absent as to makeme uneasy, I will hasten to rejoin you, and woe to him of whom you shallhave cause to complain to me!”

  “Then, Emmanuel?” said the young girl with hesitation, “it is youropinion that I should obey this invitation?”

  “Yes. Did not the messenger say your father’s safety depended upon it?”

  “But what danger threatens him, then, Emmanuel?” she asked.

  Emmanuel hesitated a moment, but his desire to make Julie decideimmediately made him reply.

  “Listen,” he said; “today is the 5th of September, is it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Today, then, at eleven o’clock, your father has nearly three hundredthousand francs to pay?”

  “Yes, we know that.”

&
nbsp; “Well, then,” continued Emmanuel, “we have not fifteen thousand francsin the house.”

  “What will happen then?”

  “Why, if today before eleven o’clock your father has not found someonewho will come to his aid, he will be compelled at twelve o’clock todeclare himself a bankrupt.”

  “Oh, come, then, come!” cried she, hastening away with the young man.

  During this time, Madame Morrel had told her son everything. The youngman knew quite well that, after the succession of misfortunes which hadbefallen his father, great changes had taken place in the style ofliving and housekeeping; but he did not know that matters had reachedsuch a point. He was thunderstruck. Then, rushing hastily out of theapartment, he ran upstairs, expecting to find his father in his study,but he rapped there in vain.

  While he was yet at the door of the study he heard the bedroom dooropen, turned, and saw his father. Instead of going direct to his study,M. Morrel had returned to his bedchamber, which he was only this momentquitting. Morrel uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of his son, ofwhose arrival he was ignorant. He remained motionless on the spot,pressing with his left hand something he had concealed under his coat.Maximilian sprang down the staircase, and threw his arms round hisfather’s neck; but suddenly he recoiled, and placed his right hand onMorrel’s breast.

  “Father,” he exclaimed, turning pale as death, “what are you going to dowith that brace of pistols under your coat?”

  “Oh, this is what I feared!” said Morrel.

  “Father, father, in Heaven’s name,” exclaimed the young man, “what arethese weapons for?”

  “Maximilian,” replied Morrel, looking fixedly at his son, “you are aman, and a man of honor. Come, and I will explain to you.”

  And with a firm step Morrel went up to his study, while Maximilianfollowed him, trembling as he went. Morrel opened the door, and closedit behind his son; then, crossing the anteroom, went to his desk onwhich he placed the pistols, and pointed with his finger to an openledger. In this ledger was made out an exact balance-sheet of hisaffairs. Morrel had to pay, within half an hour, 287,500 francs. All hepossessed was 15,257 francs.

  “Read!” said Morrel.

  The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a word. Whatcould he say? What need he add to such a desperate proof in figures?

  “And have you done all that is possible, father, to meet this disastrousresult?” asked the young man, after a moment’s pause.

  “I have,” replied Morrel.

  “You have no money coming in on which you can rely?”

  “None.”

  “You have exhausted every resource?”

  “All.”

  “And in half an hour,” said Maximilian in a gloomy voice, “our name isdishonored!”

  “Blood washes out dishonor,” said Morrel.

  “You are right, father; I understand you.” Then extending his handtowards one of the pistols, he said, “There is one for you and one forme—thanks!”

  Morrel caught his hand. “Your mother—your sister! Who will supportthem?”

  A shudder ran through the young man’s frame. “Father,” he said, “do youreflect that you are bidding me to live?”

  “Yes, I do so bid you,” answered Morrel, “it is your duty. You have acalm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you are no ordinary man. Imake no requests or commands; I only ask you to examine my position asif it were your own, and then judge for yourself.”

  The young man reflected for a moment, then an expression of sublimeresignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slow and sad gesture hetook off his two epaulets, the insignia of his rank.

  “Be it so, then, my father,” he said, extending his hand to Morrel, “diein peace, my father; I will live.”

  Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before his son, butMaximilian caught him in his arms, and those two noble hearts werepressed against each other for a moment.

  “You know it is not my fault,” said Morrel.

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  Maximilian smiled. “I know, father, you are the most honorable man Ihave ever known.”

  “Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and rejoin yourmother and sister.”

  “My father,” said the young man, bending his knee, “bless me!” Morreltook the head of his son between his two hands, drew him forward, andkissing his forehead several times said:

  “Oh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and in the name of threegenerations of irreproachable men, who say through me, ‘The edificewhich misfortune has destroyed, Providence may build up again.’ Onseeing me die such a death, the most inexorable will have pity on you.To you, perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused to me. Thendo your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go to work, labor,young man, struggle ardently and courageously; live, yourself, yourmother and sister, with the most rigid economy, so that from day to daythe property of those whom I leave in your hands may augment andfructify. Reflect how glorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn,that day of complete restoration, on which you will say in this veryoffice, ‘My father died because he could not do what I have this daydone; but he died calmly and peaceably, because in dying he knew what Ishould do.’”

  “My father, my father!” cried the young man, “why should you not live?”

  “If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest would be convertedinto doubt, pity into hostility; if I live I am only a man who hasbroken his word, failed in his engagements—in fact, only a bankrupt. If,on the contrary, I die, remember, Maximilian, my corpse is that of anhonest but unfortunate man. Living, my best friends would avoid myhouse; dead, all Marseilles will follow me in tears to my last home.Living, you would feel shame at my name; dead, you may raise your headand say, ‘I am the son of him you killed, because, for the first time,he has been compelled to break his word.’”

  The young man uttered a groan, but appeared resigned.

  “And now,” said Morrel, “leave me alone, and endeavor to keep yourmother and sister away.”

  “Will you not see my sister once more?” asked Maximilian. A last butfinal hope was concealed by the young man in the effect of thisinterview, and therefore he had suggested it. Morrel shook his head. “Isaw her this morning, and bade her adieu.”

  “Have you no particular commands to leave with me, my father?” inquiredMaximilian in a faltering voice.

  “Yes; my son, and a sacred command.”

  “Say it, my father.”

  “The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, from humanity, or,it may be, selfishness—it is not for me to read men’s hearts—has had anypity for me. Its agent, who will in ten minutes present himself toreceive the amount of a bill of 287,500 francs, I will not say granted,but offered me three months. Let this house be the first repaid, my son,and respect this man.”

  “Father, I will,” said Maximilian.

  “And now, once more, adieu,” said Morrel. “Go, leave me; I would bealone. You will find my will in the secretaire in my bedroom.”

  The young man remained standing and motionless, having but the force ofwill and not the power of execution.

  “Hear me, Maximilian,” said his father. “Suppose I were a soldier likeyou, and ordered to carry a certain redoubt, and you knew I must bekilled in the assault, would you not say to me, as you said just now,‘Go, father; for you are dishonored by delay, and death is preferable toshame!’”

  “Yes, yes,” said the young man, “yes;” and once again embracing hisfather with convulsive pressure, he said, “Be it so, my father.”

  And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him, Morrelremained an instant standing with his eyes fixed on the door; thenputting forth his arm, he pulled the bell. After a moment’s interval,Cocles appeared.

  It was no longer the same man—the fearful revelations of the three lastdays had crushed him. This thought—the house of Morrel is about to stoppayment—bent him to the earth more than twenty years would otherwi
sehave done.

  “My worthy Cocles,” said Morrel in a tone impossible to describe, “doyou remain in the antechamber. When the gentleman who came three monthsago—the agent of Thomson & French—arrives, announce his arrival to me.”

  Cocles made no reply; he made a sign with his head, went into theanteroom, and seated himself. Morrel fell back in his chair, his eyesfixed on the clock; there were seven minutes left, that was all. Thehand moved on with incredible rapidity, he seemed to see its motion.

  What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of his agonycannot be told in words. He was still comparatively young, he wassurrounded by the loving care of a devoted family, but he had convincedhimself by a course of reasoning, illogical perhaps, yet certainlyplausible, that he must separate himself from all he held dear in theworld, even life itself. To form the slightest idea of his feelings, onemust have seen his face with its expression of enforced resignation andits tear-moistened eyes raised to heaven. The minute hand moved on. Thepistols were loaded; he stretched forth his hand, took one up, andmurmured his daughter’s name. Then he laid it down, seized his pen, andwrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not taken a sufficientfarewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turned again to the clock,counting time now not by minutes, but by seconds.

  He took up the deadly weapon again, his lips parted and his eyes fixedon the clock, and then shuddered at the click of the trigger as hecocked the pistol. At this moment of mortal anguish the cold sweat cameforth upon his brow, a pang stronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. He heard the door of the staircase creak on its hinges—theclock gave its warning to strike eleven—the door of his study opened.Morrel did not turn round—he expected these words of Cocles, “The agentof Thomson & French.”

  He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth. Suddenly he hearda cry—it was his daughter’s voice. He turned and saw Julie. The pistolfell from his hands.

  “My father!” cried the young girl, out of breath, and half dead withjoy—“saved, you are saved!” And she threw herself into his arms, holdingin her extended hand a red, netted silk purse.

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  “Saved, my child!” said Morrel; “what do you mean?”

  “Yes, saved—saved! See, see!” said the young girl.

  Morrel took the purse, and started as he did so, for a vague remembrancereminded him that it once belonged to himself. At one end was thereceipted bill for the 287,000 francs, and at the other was a diamond aslarge as a hazel-nut, with these words on a small slip of parchment:Julie’s Dowry.

  Morrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him a dream. At thismoment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if each stroke of the hammerfell upon his heart.

  “Explain, my child,” he said, “Explain, my child,” he said,“explain—where did you find this purse?”

  “In a house in the Allées de Meilhan, No. 15, on the corner of amantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor.”

  “But,” cried Morrel, “this purse is not yours!” Julie handed to herfather the letter she had received in the morning.

  “And did you go alone?” asked Morrel, after he had read it.

  “Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for me at thecorner of the Rue du Musée, but, strange to say, he was not there when Ireturned.”

  “Monsieur Morrel!” exclaimed a voice on the stairs; “Monsieur Morrel!”

  “It is his voice!” said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel entered, hiscountenance full of animation and joy.

  “The Pharaon!” he cried; “the Pharaon!”

  “What!—what!—the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You know the vessel islost.”

  “The Pharaon, sir—they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is entering theharbor!”

  Morrel fell back in his chair, his strength was failing him; hisunderstanding weakened by such events, refused to comprehend suchincredible, unheard-of, fabulous facts. But his son came in.

  “Father,” cried Maximilian, “how could you say the Pharaon was lost? Thelookout has signalled her, and they say she is now coming into port.”

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  “My dear friends,” said Morrel, “if this be so, it must be a miracle ofheaven! Impossible, impossible!”

  But what was real and not less incredible was the purse he held in hishand, the acceptance receipted—the splendid diamond.

  “Ah, sir,” exclaimed Cocles, “what can it mean?—the Pharaon?”

  “Come, dear ones,” said Morrel, rising from his seat, “let us go andsee, and Heaven have pity upon us if it be false intelligence!”

  They all went out, and on the stairs met Madame Morrel, who had beenafraid to go up into the study. In a moment they were at the Canebière.There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave way before Morrel.“The Pharaon! the Pharaon!” said every voice.

  And, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean, was a shipbearing on her stern these words, printed in white letters, “ThePharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles.” She was the exact duplicate ofthe other Pharaon, and loaded, as that had been, with cochineal andindigo. She cast anchor, clued up sails, and on the deck was CaptainGaumard giving orders, and good old Penelon making signals to M. Morrel.To doubt any longer was impossible; there was the evidence of thesenses, and ten thousand persons who came to corroborate the testimony.

  As Morrel and his son embraced on the pier-head, in the presence andamid the applause of the whole city witnessing this event, a man, withhis face half-covered by a black beard, and who, concealed behind thesentry-box, watched the scene with delight, uttered these words in a lowtone:

  “Be happy, noble heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done andwilt do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like yourgood deeds.”

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  And with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left his hiding-place, and without being observed, descended one of the flights of stepsprovided for debarkation, and hailing three times, shouted “Jacopo,Jacopo, Jacopo!”

  Then a launch came to shore, took him on board, and conveyed him to ayacht splendidly fitted up, on whose deck he sprung with the activity ofa sailor; thence he once again looked towards Morrel, who, weeping withjoy, was shaking hands most cordially with all the crowd around him, andthanking with a look the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seekingin the skies.

  “And now,” said the unknown, “farewell kindness, humanity, andgratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that expand the heart! I havebeen Heaven’s substitute to recompense the good—now the god of vengeanceyields to me his power to punish the wicked!”

  At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaiting this signal,the yacht instantly put out to sea.