Chapter 37. The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian
In his whole life, perhaps, Franz had never before experienced so suddenan impression, so rapid a transition from gayety to sadness, as in thismoment. It seemed as though Rome, under the magic breath of some demonof the night, had suddenly changed into a vast tomb. By a chance, whichadded yet more to the intensity of the darkness, the moon, which was onthe wane, did not rise until eleven o’clock, and the streets which theyoung man traversed were plunged in the deepest obscurity.
The distance was short, and at the end of ten minutes his carriage, orrather the count’s, stopped before the Hôtel de Londres.
Dinner was waiting, but as Albert had told him that he should not returnso soon, Franz sat down without him. Signor Pastrini, who had beenaccustomed to see them dine together, inquired into the cause of hisabsence, but Franz merely replied that Albert had received on theprevious evening an invitation which he had accepted.
The sudden extinction of the moccoletti, the darkness which had replacedthe light, and the silence which had succeeded the turmoil, had left inFranz’s mind a certain depression which was not free from uneasiness. Hetherefore dined very silently, in spite of the officious attention ofhis host, who presented himself two or three times to inquire if hewanted anything.
Franz resolved to wait for Albert as late as possible. He ordered thecarriage, therefore, for eleven o’clock, desiring Signor Pastrini toinform him the moment that Albert returned to the hotel.
At eleven o’clock Albert had not come back. Franz dressed himself, andwent out, telling his host that he was going to pass the night at theDuke of Bracciano’s. The house of the Duke of Bracciano is one of themost delightful in Rome, the duchess, one of the last heiresses of theColonnas, does its honors with the most consummate grace, and thus theirfêtes have a European celebrity.
Franz and Albert had brought to Rome letters of introduction to them,and their first question on his arrival was to inquire the whereaboutsof his travelling companion. Franz replied that he had left him at themoment they were about to extinguish the moccoli, and that he had lostsight of him in the Via Macello.
“Then he has not returned?” said the duke.
“I waited for him until this hour,” replied Franz.
“And do you know whither he went?”
“No, not precisely; however, I think it was something very like arendezvous.”
“Diavolo!” said the duke, “this is a bad day, or rather a bad night, tobe out late; is it not, countess?”
These words were addressed to the Countess G——, who had just arrived,and was leaning on the arm of Signor Torlonia, the duke’s brother.
“I think, on the contrary, that it is a charming night,” replied thecountess, “and those who are here will complain of but one thing, thatof its too rapid flight.”
“I am not speaking,” said the duke with a smile, “of the persons who arehere; the men run no other danger than that of falling in love with you,and the women of falling ill of jealousy at seeing you so lovely; Imeant persons who were out in the streets of Rome.”
“Ah,” asked the countess, “who is out in the streets of Rome at thishour, unless it be to go to a ball?”
“Our friend, Albert de Morcerf, countess, whom I left in pursuit of hisunknown about seven o’clock this evening,” said Franz, “and whom I havenot seen since.”
“And don’t you know where he is?”
“Not at all.”
“Is he armed?”
“He is in masquerade.”
“You should not have allowed him to go,” said the duke to Franz; “you,who know Rome better than he does.”
“You might as well have tried to stop number three of the barberi, whogained the prize in the race today,” replied Franz; “and then moreover,what could happen to him?”
“Who can tell? The night is gloomy, and the Tiber is very near the ViaMacello.” Franz felt a shudder run through his veins at observing thatthe feeling of the duke and the countess was so much in unison with hisown personal disquietude.
“I informed them at the hotel that I had the honor of passing the nighthere, duke,” said Franz, “and desired them to come and inform me of hisreturn.”
“Ah,” replied the duke, “here I think, is one of my servants who isseeking you.”
The duke was not mistaken; when he saw Franz, the servant came up tohim.
“Your excellency,” he said, “the master of the Hôtel de Londres has sentto let you know that a man is waiting for you with a letter from theViscount of Morcerf.”
“A letter from the viscount!” exclaimed Franz.
“Yes.”
“And who is the man?”
“I do not know.”
“Why did he not bring it to me here?”
“The messenger did not say.”
“And where is the messenger?”
“He went away directly he saw me enter the ball-room to find you.”
“Oh,” said the countess to Franz, “go with all speed—poor young man!Perhaps some accident has happened to him.”
“I will hasten,” replied Franz.
“Shall we see you again to give us any information?” inquired thecountess.
“Yes, if it is not any serious affair, otherwise I cannot answer as towhat I may do myself.”
“Be prudent, in any event,” said the countess.
“Oh! pray be assured of that.”
Franz took his hat and went away in haste. He had sent away his carriagewith orders for it to fetch him at two o’clock; fortunately the PalazzoBracciano, which is on one side in the Corso, and on the other in theSquare of the Holy Apostles, is hardly ten minutes’ walk from the Hôtelde Londres.
As he came near the hotel, Franz saw a man in the middle of the street.He had no doubt that it was the messenger from Albert. The man waswrapped up in a large cloak. He went up to him, but, to his extremeastonishment, the stranger first addressed him.
“What wants your excellency of me?” inquired the man, retreating a stepor two, as if to keep on his guard.
“Are not you the person who brought me a letter,” inquired Franz, “fromthe Viscount of Morcerf?”
“Your excellency lodges at Pastrini’s hotel?”
“I do.”
“Your excellency is the travelling companion of the viscount?”
“I am.”
“Your excellency’s name——”
“Is the Baron Franz d’Épinay.”
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“Then it is to your excellency that this letter is addressed.”
“Is there any answer?” inquired Franz, taking the letter from him.
“Yes—your friend at least hopes so.”
“Come upstairs with me, and I will give it to you.”
“I prefer waiting here,” said the messenger, with a smile.
“And why?”
“Your excellency will know when you have read the letter.”
“Shall I find you here, then?”
“Certainly.”
Franz entered the hotel. On the staircase he met Signor Pastrini.“Well?” said the landlord.
“Well—what?” responded Franz.
“You have seen the man who desired to speak with you from your friend?”he asked of Franz.
“Yes, I have seen him,” he replied, “and he has handed this letter tome. Light the candles in my apartment, if you please.”
The innkeeper gave orders to a servant to go before Franz with a light.The young man had found Signor Pastrini looking very much alarmed, andthis had only made him the more anxious to read Albert’s letter; and sohe went instantly towards the waxlight, and unfolded it. It was writtenand signed by Albert. Franz read it twice before he could comprehendwhat it contained. It was thus worded:
“My dear Fellow,
“The moment you have received this, have the kindness to take the letterof credit from my pocket-book, which you will find in the square drawerof the secrétaire; add your own to it,
if it be not sufficient. Run toTorlonia, draw from him instantly four thousand piastres, and give themto the bearer. It is urgent that I should have this money without delay.I do not say more, relying on you as you may rely on me.
“Your friend,
“Albert de Morcerf.
“P.S.—I now believe in Italian banditti.”
Below these lines were written, in a strange hand, the following inItalian:
“Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mille piastre non sono nelle miemani, alla sette il Conte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.
“Luigi Vampa.”
“If by six in the morning the four thousand piastres are not in myhands, by seven o’clock the Count Albert will have ceased to live.”
This second signature explained everything to Franz, who now understoodthe objection of the messenger to coming up into the apartment; thestreet was safer for him. Albert, then, had fallen into the hands of thefamous bandit chief, in whose existence he had for so long a timerefused to believe.
There was no time to lose. He hastened to open the secrétaire, and foundthe pocket-book in the drawer, and in it the letter of credit. Therewere in all six thousand piastres, but of these six thousand Albert hadalready expended three thousand.
As to Franz, he had no letter of credit, as he lived at Florence, andhad only come to Rome to pass seven or eight days; he had brought but ahundred louis, and of these he had not more than fifty left. Thus sevenor eight hundred piastres were wanting to them both to make up the sumthat Albert required. True, he might in such a case rely on the kindnessof Signor Torlonia. He was, therefore, about to return to the PalazzoBracciano without loss of time, when suddenly a luminous idea crossedhis mind.
He remembered the Count of Monte Cristo. Franz was about to ring forSignor Pastrini, when that worthy presented himself.
“My dear sir,” he said, hastily, “do you know if the count is within?”
“Yes, your excellency; he has this moment returned.”
“Is he in bed?”
“I should say no.”
“Then ring at his door, if you please, and request him to be so kind asto give me an audience.”
Signor Pastrini did as he was desired, and returning five minutes after,he said:
“The count awaits your excellency.”
Franz went along the corridor, and a servant introduced him to thecount. He was in a small room which Franz had not yet seen, and whichwas surrounded with divans. The count came towards him.
“Well, what good wind blows you hither at this hour?” said he; “have youcome to sup with me? It would be very kind of you.”
“No; I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter.”
“A serious matter,” said the count, looking at Franz with theearnestness usual to him; “and what may it be?”
“Are we alone?”
“Yes,” replied the count, going to the door, and returning. Franz gavehim Albert’s letter.
“Read that,” he said.
The count read it.
“Well, well!” said he.
“Did you see the postscript?”
“I did, indeed.
“‘Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mille piastre non sono nelle miemani, alla sette il conte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.
“‘Luigi Vampa.’”
“What think you of that?” inquired Franz.
“Have you the money he demands?”
“Yes, all but eight hundred piastres.”
The count went to his secrétaire, opened it, and pulling out a drawerfilled with gold, said to Franz, “I hope you will not offend me byapplying to anyone but myself.”
“You see, on the contrary, I come to you first and instantly,” repliedFranz.
“And I thank you; have what you will;” and he made a sign to Franz totake what he pleased.
“Is it absolutely necessary, then, to send the money to Luigi Vampa?”asked the young man, looking fixedly in his turn at the count.
“Judge for yourself,” replied he. “The postscript is explicit.”
“I think that if you would take the trouble of reflecting, you couldfind a way of simplifying the negotiation,” said Franz.
“How so?” returned the count, with surprise.
“If we were to go together to Luigi Vampa, I am sure he would not refuseyou Albert’s freedom.”
“What influence can I possibly have over a bandit?”
“Have you not just rendered him a service that can never be forgotten?”
“What is that?”
“Have you not saved Peppino’s life?”
“Well, well,” said the count, “who told you that?”
“No matter; I know it.” The count knit his brows, and remained silent aninstant.
“And if I went to seek Vampa, would you accompany me?”
“If my society would not be disagreeable.”
“Be it so. It is a lovely night, and a walk without Rome will do us bothgood.”
“Shall I take any arms?”
“For what purpose?”
“Any money?”
“It is useless. Where is the man who brought the letter?”
“In the street.”
“He awaits the answer?”
“Yes.”
“I must learn where we are going. I will summon him hither.”
“It is useless; he would not come up.”
“To your apartments, perhaps; but he will not make any difficulty atentering mine.”
The count went to the window of the apartment that looked on to thestreet, and whistled in a peculiar manner. The man in the mantle quittedthe wall, and advanced into the middle of the street. “Salite!” said thecount, in the same tone in which he would have given an order to hisservant. The messenger obeyed without the least hesitation, but ratherwith alacrity, and, mounting the steps at a bound, entered the hotel;five seconds afterwards he was at the door of the room.
“Ah, it is you, Peppino,” said the count. But Peppino, instead ofanswering, threw himself on his knees, seized the count’s hand, andcovered it with kisses. “Ah,” said the count, “you have, then, notforgotten that I saved your life; that is strange, for it is a weekago.”
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“No, excellency; and never shall I forget it,” returned Peppino, with anaccent of profound gratitude.
“Never? That is a long time; but it is something that you believe so.Rise and answer.”
Peppino glanced anxiously at Franz.
“Oh, you may speak before his excellency,” said he; “he is one of myfriends. You allow me to give you this title?” continued the count inFrench, “it is necessary to excite this man’s confidence.”
“You can speak before me,” said Franz; “I am a friend of the count’s.”
“Good!” returned Peppino. “I am ready to answer any questions yourexcellency may address to me.”
“How did the Viscount Albert fall into Luigi’s hands?”
“Excellency, the Frenchman’s carriage passed several times the one inwhich was Teresa.”
“The chief’s mistress?”
“Yes. The Frenchman threw her a bouquet; Teresa returned it—all thiswith the consent of the chief, who was in the carriage.”
“What?” cried Franz, “was Luigi Vampa in the carriage with the Romanpeasants?”
“It was he who drove, disguised as the coachman,” replied Peppino.
“Well?” said the count.
“Well, then, the Frenchman took off his mask; Teresa, with the chief’sconsent, did the same. The Frenchman asked for a rendezvous; Teresa gavehim one—only, instead of Teresa, it was Beppo who was on the steps ofthe church of San Giacomo.”
“What!” exclaimed Franz, “the peasant girl who snatched his mocolettofrom him——”
“Was a lad of fifteen,” replied Peppino. “But it was no disgrace to yourfriend to have been deceived; Beppo has taken in plenty of others.”
“And Beppo led him outside the walls?” said
the count.
“Exactly so; a carriage was waiting at the end of the Via Macello. Beppogot in, inviting the Frenchman to follow him, and he did not wait to beasked twice. He gallantly offered the right-hand seat to Beppo, and satby him. Beppo told him he was going to take him to a villa a league fromRome; the Frenchman assured him he would follow him to the end of theworld. The coachman went up the Via di Ripetta and the Porta San Paolo;and when they were two hundred yards outside, as the Frenchman becamesomewhat too forward, Beppo put a brace of pistols to his head, thecoachman pulled up and did the same. At the same time, four of the band,who were concealed on the banks of the Almo, surrounded the carriage.The Frenchman made some resistance, and nearly strangled Beppo; but hecould not resist five armed men, and was forced to yield. They made himget out, walk along the banks of the river, and then brought him toTeresa and Luigi, who were waiting for him in the catacombs of St.Sebastian.”
“Well,” said the count, turning towards Franz, “it seems to me that thisis a very likely story. What do you say to it?”
“Why, that I should think it very amusing,” replied Franz, “if it hadhappened to anyone but poor Albert.”
“And, in truth, if you had not found me here,” said the count, “it mighthave proved a gallant adventure which would have cost your friend dear;but now, be assured, his alarm will be the only serious consequence.”
“And shall we go and find him?” inquired Franz.
“Oh, decidedly, sir. He is in a very picturesque place—do you know thecatacombs of St. Sebastian?”
“I was never in them; but I have often resolved to visit them.”
“Well, here is an opportunity made to your hand, and it would bedifficult to contrive a better. Have you a carriage?”
“No.”
“That is of no consequence; I always have one ready, day and night.”
“Always ready?”
“Yes. I am a very capricious being, and I should tell you that sometimeswhen I rise, or after my dinner, or in the middle of the night, Iresolve on starting for some particular point, and away I go.”
The count rang, and a footman appeared.
“Order out the carriage,” he said, “and remove the pistols which are inthe holsters. You need not awaken the coachman; Ali will drive.”
In a very short time the noise of wheels was heard, and the carriagestopped at the door. The count took out his watch.
“Half-past twelve,” he said. “We might start at five o’clock and be intime, but the delay may cause your friend to pass an uneasy night, andtherefore we had better go with all speed to extricate him from thehands of the infidels. Are you still resolved to accompany me?”
“More determined than ever.”
“Well, then, come along.”
Franz and the count went downstairs, accompanied by Peppino. At the doorthey found the carriage. Ali was on the box, in whom Franz recognizedthe dumb slave of the grotto of Monte Cristo. Franz and the count gotinto the carriage. Peppino placed himself beside Ali, and they set offat a rapid pace. Ali had received his instructions, and went down theCorso, crossed the Campo Vaccino, went up the Strada San Gregorio, andreached the gates of St. Sebastian. Then the porter raised somedifficulties, but the Count of Monte Cristo produced a permit from thegovernor of Rome, allowing him to leave or enter the city at any hour ofthe day or night; the portcullis was therefore raised, the porter had alouis for his trouble, and they went on their way.
The road which the carriage now traversed was the ancient Appian Way,and bordered with tombs. From time to time, by the light of the moon,which began to rise, Franz imagined that he saw something like asentinel appear at various points among the ruins, and suddenly retreatinto the darkness on a signal from Peppino.
A short time before they reached the Baths of Caracalla the carriagestopped, Peppino opened the door, and the count and Franz alighted.
“In ten minutes,” said the count to his companion, “we shall be there.”
He then took Peppino aside, gave him an order in a low voice, andPeppino went away, taking with him a torch, brought with them in thecarriage. Five minutes elapsed, during which Franz saw the shepherdgoing along a narrow path that led over the irregular and broken surfaceof the Campagna; and finally he disappeared in the midst of the tall redherbage, which seemed like the bristling mane of an enormous lion.
“Now,” said the count, “let us follow him.”
Franz and the count in their turn then advanced along the same path,which, at the distance of a hundred paces, led them over a declivity tothe bottom of a small valley. They then perceived two men conversing inthe obscurity.
“Ought we to go on?” asked Franz of the count; “or should we pause?”
“Let us go on; Peppino will have warned the sentry of our coming.”
One of the two men was Peppino, and the other a bandit on the lookout.Franz and the count advanced, and the bandit saluted them.
“Your excellency,” said Peppino, addressing the count, “if you willfollow me, the opening of the catacombs is close at hand.”
“Go on, then,” replied the count. They came to an opening behind a clumpof bushes and in the midst of a pile of rocks, by which a man couldscarcely pass. Peppino glided first into this crevice; after they gotalong a few paces the passage widened. Peppino passed, lighted historch, and turned to see if they came after him. The count first reachedan open space and Franz followed him closely. The passageway sloped in agentle descent, enlarging as they proceeded; still Franz and the countwere compelled to advance in a stooping posture, and were scarcely ableto proceed abreast of one another. They went on a hundred and fiftypaces in this way, and then were stopped by, “Who comes there?” At thesame time they saw the reflection of a torch on a carbine barrel.
“A friend!” responded Peppino; and, advancing alone towards the sentry,he said a few words to him in a low tone; and then he, like the first,saluted the nocturnal visitors, making a sign that they might proceed.
Behind the sentinel was a staircase with twenty steps. Franz and thecount descended these, and found themselves in a mortuary chamber. Fivecorridors diverged like the rays of a star, and the walls, dug intoniches, which were arranged one above the other in the shape of coffins,showed that they were at last in the catacombs. Down one of thecorridors, whose extent it was impossible to determine, rays of lightwere visible. The count laid his hand on Franz’s shoulder.
“Would you like to see a camp of bandits in repose?” he inquired.
“Exceedingly,” replied Franz.
“Come with me, then. Peppino, put out the torch.” Peppino obeyed, andFranz and the count were in utter darkness, except that fifty paces inadvance of them a reddish glare, more evident since Peppino had put outhis torch, was visible along the wall.
They advanced silently, the count guiding Franz as if he had thesingular faculty of seeing in the dark. Franz himself, however, saw hisway more plainly in proportion as he went on towards the light, whichserved in some manner as a guide. Three arcades were before them, andthe middle one was used as a door. These arcades opened on one side intothe corridor where the count and Franz were, and on the other into alarge square chamber, entirely surrounded by niches similar to those ofwhich we have spoken.
In the midst of this chamber were four stones, which had formerly servedas an altar, as was evident from the cross which still surmounted them.A lamp, placed at the base of a pillar, lighted up with its pale andflickering flame the singular scene which presented itself to the eyesof the two visitors concealed in the shadow.
A man was seated with his elbow leaning on the column, and was readingwith his back turned to the arcades, through the openings of which thenew-comers contemplated him. This was the chief of the band, LuigiVampa. Around him, and in groups, according to their fancy, lying intheir mantles, or with their backs against a sort of stone bench, whichwent all round the columbarium, were to be seen twenty brigands or more,each having his carbine within reach. At the other end, silent, scar
celyvisible, and like a shadow, was a sentinel, who was walking up and downbefore a grotto, which was only distinguishable because in that spot thedarkness seemed more dense than elsewhere.
When the count thought Franz had gazed sufficiently on this picturesquetableau, he raised his finger to his lips, to warn him to be silent,and, ascending the three steps which led to the corridor of thecolumbarium, entered the chamber by the middle arcade, and advancedtowards Vampa, who was so intent on the book before him that he did nothear the noise of his footsteps.
“Who comes there?” cried the sentinel, who was less abstracted, and whosaw by the lamp-light a shadow approaching his chief. At this challenge,Vampa rose quickly, drawing at the same moment a pistol from his girdle.In a moment all the bandits were on their feet, and twenty carbines werelevelled at the count.
“Well,” said he in a voice perfectly calm, and no muscle of hiscountenance disturbed, “well, my dear Vampa, it appears to me that youreceive a friend with a great deal of ceremony.”
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“Ground arms,” exclaimed the chief, with an imperative sign of the hand,while with the other he took off his hat respectfully; then, turning tothe singular personage who had caused this scene, he said, “Your pardon,your excellency, but I was so far from expecting the honor of a visit,that I did not really recognize you.”
“It seems that your memory is equally short in everything, Vampa,” saidthe count, “and that not only do you forget people’s faces, but also theconditions you make with them.”
“What conditions have I forgotten, your excellency?” inquired thebandit, with the air of a man who, having committed an error, is anxiousto repair it.
“Was it not agreed,” asked the count, “that not only my person, but alsothat of my friends, should be respected by you?”
“And how have I broken that treaty, your excellency?”
“You have this evening carried off and conveyed hither the ViscountAlbert de Morcerf. Well,” continued the count, in a tone that made Franzshudder, “this young gentleman is one of my friends—this young gentlemanlodges in the same hotel as myself—this young gentleman has been up anddown the Corso for eight hours in my private carriage, and yet, I repeatto you, you have carried him off, and conveyed him hither, and,” addedthe count, taking the letter from his pocket, “you have set a ransom onhim, as if he were an utter stranger.”
“Why did you not tell me all this—you?” inquired the brigand chief,turning towards his men, who all retreated before his look. “Why haveyou caused me thus to fail in my word towards a gentleman like thecount, who has all our lives in his hands? By heavens! if I thought oneof you knew that the young gentleman was the friend of his excellency, Iwould blow his brains out with my own hand!”
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“Well,” said the count, turning towards Franz, “I told you there wassome mistake in this.”
“Are you not alone?” asked Vampa with uneasiness.
“I am with the person to whom this letter was addressed, and to whom Idesired to prove that Luigi Vampa was a man of his word. Come, yourexcellency,” the count added, turning to Franz, “here is Luigi Vampa,who will himself express to you his deep regret at the mistake he hascommitted.”
Franz approached, the chief advancing several steps to meet him.
“Welcome among us, your excellency,” he said to him; “you heard what thecount just said, and also my reply; let me add that I would not for thefour thousand piastres at which I had fixed your friend’s ransom, thatthis had happened.”
“But,” said Franz, looking round him uneasily, “where is the viscount?—Ido not see him.”
“Nothing has happened to him, I hope,” said the count frowningly.
“The prisoner is there,” replied Vampa, pointing to the hollow space infront of which the bandit was on guard, “and I will go myself and tellhim he is free.”
The chief went towards the place he had pointed out as Albert’s prison,and Franz and the count followed him.
“What is the prisoner doing?” inquired Vampa of the sentinel.
“Ma foi, captain,” replied the sentry, “I do not know; for the last hourI have not heard him stir.”
“Come in, your excellency,” said Vampa. The count and Franz ascendedseven or eight steps after the chief, who drew back a bolt and opened adoor. Then, by the gleam of a lamp, similar to that which lighted thecolumbarium, Albert was to be seen wrapped up in a cloak which one ofthe bandits had lent him, lying in a corner in profound slumber.
“Come,” said the count, smiling with his own peculiar smile, “not so badfor a man who is to be shot at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Vampa looked at Albert with a kind of admiration; he was not insensibleto such a proof of courage.
“You are right, your excellency,” he said; “this must be one of yourfriends.”
Then going to Albert, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Will yourexcellency please to awaken?”
Albert stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyelids, and opened his eyes.
“Oh,” said he, “is it you, captain? You should have allowed me to sleep.I had such a delightful dream. I was dancing the galop at Torlonia’swith the Countess G——.” Then he drew his watch from his pocket, that hemight see how time sped.
“Half-past one only?” said he. “Why the devil do you rouse me at thishour?”
“To tell you that you are free, your excellency.”
“My dear fellow,” replied Albert, with perfect ease of mind, “remember,for the future, Napoleon’s maxim, ‘Never awaken me but for bad news;’ ifyou had let me sleep on, I should have finished my galop, and have beengrateful to you all my life. So, then, they have paid my ransom?”
“No, your excellency.”
“Well, then, how am I free?”
“A person to whom I can refuse nothing has come to demand you.”
“Come hither?”
“Yes, hither.”
“Really? Then that person is a most amiable person.”
Albert looked around and perceived Franz. “What,” said he, “is it you,my dear Franz, whose devotion and friendship are thus displayed?”
“No, not I,” replied Franz, “but our neighbor, the Count of MonteCristo.”
“Oh, my dear count,” said Albert gayly, arranging his cravat andwristbands, “you are really most kind, and I hope you will consider meas under eternal obligations to you, in the first place for thecarriage, and in the next for this visit,” and he put out his hand tothe count, who shuddered as he gave his own, but who nevertheless didgive it.
The bandit gazed on this scene with amazement; he was evidentlyaccustomed to see his prisoners tremble before him, and yet here was onewhose gay temperament was not for a moment altered; as for Franz, he wasenchanted at the way in which Albert had sustained the national honor inthe presence of the bandit.
“My dear Albert,” he said, “if you will make haste, we shall yet havetime to finish the night at Torlonia’s. You may conclude yourinterrupted galop, so that you will owe no ill-will to Signor Luigi, whohas, indeed, throughout this whole affair acted like a gentleman.”
“You are decidedly right, and we may reach the Palazzo by two o’clock.Signor Luigi,” continued Albert, “is there any formality to fulfilbefore I take leave of your excellency?”
“None, sir,” replied the bandit, “you are as free as air.”
“Well, then, a happy and merry life to you. Come, gentlemen, come.”
And Albert, followed by Franz and the count, descended the staircase,crossed the square chamber, where stood all the bandits, hat in hand.
“Peppino,” said the brigand chief, “give me the torch.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired the count.
“I will show you the way back myself,” said the captain; “that is theleast honor that I can render to your excellency.”
And taking the lighted torch from the hands of the herdsman, he precededhis guests, not as a servant who performs
an act of civility, but like aking who precedes ambassadors. On reaching the door, he bowed.
“And now, your excellency,” added he, “allow me to repeat my apologies,and I hope you will not entertain any resentment at what has occurred.”
“No, my dear Vampa,” replied the count; “besides, you compensate foryour mistakes in so gentlemanly a way, that one almost feels obliged toyou for having committed them.”
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“Gentlemen,” added the chief, turning towards the young men, “perhapsthe offer may not appear very tempting to you; but if you should everfeel inclined to pay me a second visit, wherever I may be, you shall bewelcome.”
Franz and Albert bowed. The count went out first, then Albert. Franzpaused for a moment.
“Has your excellency anything to ask me?” said Vampa with a smile.
“Yes, I have,” replied Franz; “I am curious to know what work you wereperusing with so much attention as we entered.”
“Cæsar’s Commentaries,” said the bandit, “it is my favorite work.”
“Well, are you coming?” asked Albert.
“Yes,” replied Franz, “here I am,” and he, in his turn, left the caves.They advanced to the plain.
“Ah, your pardon,” said Albert, turning round; “will you allow me,captain?”
And he lighted his cigar at Vampa’s torch.
“Now, my dear count,” he said, “let us on with all the speed we may. Iam enormously anxious to finish my night at the Duke of Bracciano’s.”
They found the carriage where they had left it. The count said a word inArabic to Ali, and the horses went on at great speed.
It was just two o’clock by Albert’s watch when the two friends enteredinto the dancing-room. Their return was quite an event, but as theyentered together, all uneasiness on Albert’s account ceased instantly.
“Madame,” said the Viscount of Morcerf, advancing towards the countess,“yesterday you were so condescending as to promise me a galop; I amrather late in claiming this gracious promise, but here is my friend,whose character for veracity you well know, and he will assure you thedelay arose from no fault of mine.”
And as at this moment the orchestra gave the signal for the waltz,Albert put his arm round the waist of the countess, and disappeared withher in the whirl of dancers.
In the meanwhile Franz was considering the singular shudder that hadpassed over the Count of Monte Cristo at the moment when he had been, insome sort, forced to give his hand to Albert.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 38