Chapter 97. The Departure for Belgium
A few minutes after the scene of confusion produced in the salons of M.Danglars by the unexpected appearance of the brigade of soldiers, and bythe disclosure which had followed, the mansion was deserted with as muchrapidity as if a case of plague or of cholera morbus had broken outamong the guests.
In a few minutes, through all the doors, down all the staircases, byevery exit, everyone hastened to retire, or rather to fly; for it was asituation where the ordinary condolences,—which even the best friendsare so eager to offer in great catastrophes,—were seen to be utterlyfutile. There remained in the banker’s house only Danglars, closeted inhis study, and making his statement to the officer of gendarmes; MadameDanglars, terrified, in the boudoir with which we are acquainted; andEugénie, who with haughty air and disdainful lip had retired to her roomwith her inseparable companion, Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly.
As for the numerous servants (more numerous that evening than usual, fortheir number was augmented by cooks and butlers from the Café de Paris),venting on their employers their anger at what they termed the insult towhich they had been subjected, they collected in groups in the hall, inthe kitchens, or in their rooms, thinking very little of their duty,which was thus naturally interrupted. Of all this household, only twopersons deserve our notice; these are Mademoiselle Eugénie Danglars andMademoiselle Louise d’Armilly.
The betrothed had retired, as we said, with haughty air, disdainful lip,and the demeanor of an outraged queen, followed by her companion, whowas paler and more disturbed than herself. On reaching her room Eugénielocked her door, while Louise fell on a chair.
“Ah, what a dreadful thing,” said the young musician; “who would havesuspected it? M. Andrea Cavalcanti a murderer—a galley-slave escaped—aconvict!”
An ironical smile curled the lip of Eugénie. “In truth, I was fated,”said she. “I escaped the Morcerf only to fall into the Cavalcanti.”
“Oh, do not confound the two, Eugénie.”
“Hold your tongue! The men are all infamous, and I am happy to be ablenow to do more than detest them—I despise them.”
“What shall we do?” asked Louise.
“What shall we do?”
“Yes.”
“Why, the same we had intended doing three days since—set off.”
“What?—although you are not now going to be married, you intend still——”
“Listen, Louise. I hate this life of the fashionable world, alwaysordered, measured, ruled, like our music-paper. What I have alwayswished for, desired, and coveted, is the life of an artist, free andindependent, relying only on my own resources, and accountable only tomyself. Remain here? What for?—that they may try, a month hence, tomarry me again; and to whom?—M. Debray, perhaps, as it was onceproposed. No, Louise, no! This evening’s adventure will serve for myexcuse. I did not seek one, I did not ask for one. God sends me this,and I hail it joyfully!”
“How strong and courageous you are!” said the fair, frail girl to herbrunette companion.
“Did you not yet know me? Come, Louise, let us talk of our affairs. Thepost-chaise——”
“Was happily bought three days since.”
“Have you had it sent where we are to go for it?”
“Yes.”
“Our passport?”
“Here it is.”
And Eugénie, with her usual precision, opened a printed paper, and read:
“M. Léon d’Armilly, twenty years of age; profession, artist; hair black,eyes black; travelling with his sister.”
“Capital! How did you get this passport?”
“When I went to ask M. de Monte Cristo for letters to the directors ofthe theatres at Rome and Naples, I expressed my fears of travelling as awoman; he perfectly understood them, and undertook to procure for me aman’s passport, and two days after I received this, to which I haveadded with my own hand, ‘travelling with his sister.’”
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“Well,” said Eugénie cheerfully, “we have then only to pack up ourtrunks; we shall start the evening of the signing of the contract,instead of the evening of the wedding—that is all.”
“But consider the matter seriously, Eugénie!”
“Oh, I am done with considering! I am tired of hearing only of marketreports, of the end of the month, of the rise and fall of Spanish funds,of Haitian bonds. Instead of that, Louise—do you understand?—air,liberty, melody of birds, plains of Lombardy, Venetian canals, Romanpalaces, the Bay of Naples. How much have we, Louise?”
The young girl to whom this question was addressed drew from an inlaidsecretaire a small portfolio with a lock, in which she counted twenty-three bank-notes.
“Twenty-three thousand francs,” said she.
“And as much, at least, in pearls, diamonds, and jewels,” said Eugénie.“We are rich. With forty-five thousand francs we can live likeprincesses for two years, and comfortably for four; but before sixmonths—you with your music, and I with my voice—we shall double ourcapital. Come, you shall take charge of the money, I of the jewel-box;so that if one of us had the misfortune to lose her treasure, the otherwould still have hers left. Now, the portmanteau—let us make haste—theportmanteau!”
“Stop!” said Louise, going to listen at Madame Danglars’ door.
“What do you fear?”
“That we may be discovered.”
“The door is locked.”
“They may tell us to open it.”
“They may if they like, but we will not.”
“You are a perfect Amazon, Eugénie!” And the two young girls began toheap into a trunk all the things they thought they should require.
“There now,” said Eugénie, “while I change my costume do you lock theportmanteau.” Louise pressed with all the strength of her little handson the top of the portmanteau.
“But I cannot,” said she; “I am not strong enough; do you shut it.”
“Ah, you do well to ask,” said Eugénie, laughing; “I forgot that I wasHercules, and you only the pale Omphale!”
And the young girl, kneeling on the top, pressed the two parts of theportmanteau together, and Mademoiselle d’Armilly passed the bolt of thepadlock through. When this was done, Eugénie opened a drawer, of whichshe kept the key, and took from it a wadded violet silk travellingcloak.
“Here,” said she, “you see I have thought of everything; with this cloakyou will not be cold.”
“But you?”
“Oh, I am never cold, you know! Besides, with these men’s clothes——”
“Will you dress here?”
“Certainly.”
“Shall you have time?”
“Do not be uneasy, you little coward! All our servants are busy,discussing the grand affair. Besides, what is there astonishing, whenyou think of the grief I ought to be in, that I shut myself up?—tellme!”
“No, truly—you comfort me.”
“Come and help me.”
From the same drawer she took a man’s complete costume, from the bootsto the coat, and a provision of linen, where there was nothingsuperfluous, but every requisite. Then, with a promptitude whichindicated that this was not the first time she had amused herself byadopting the garb of the opposite sex, Eugénie drew on the boots andpantaloons, tied her cravat, buttoned her waistcoat up to the throat,and put on a coat which admirably fitted her beautiful figure.
“Oh, that is very good—indeed, it is very good!” said Louise, looking ather with admiration; “but that beautiful black hair, those magnificentbraids, which made all the ladies sigh with envy,—will they go under aman’s hat like the one I see down there?”
“You shall see,” said Eugénie. And with her left hand seizing the thickmass, which her long fingers could scarcely grasp, she took in her righthand a pair of long scissors, and soon the steel met through the richand splendid hair, which fell in a cluster at her feet as she leanedback to keep it from her coat. Then she grasped the front hair, whichshe also cut off, w
ithout expressing the least regret; on the contrary,her eyes sparkled with greater pleasure than usual under her ebonyeyebrows.
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“Oh, the magnificent hair!” said Louise, with regret.
“And am I not a hundred times better thus?” cried Eugénie, smoothing thescattered curls of her hair, which had now quite a masculine appearance;“and do you not think me handsomer so?”
“Oh, you are beautiful—always beautiful!” cried Louise. “Now, where areyou going?”
“To Brussels, if you like; it is the nearest frontier. We can go toBrussels, Liège, Aix-la-Chapelle; then up the Rhine to Strasbourg. Wewill cross Switzerland, and go down into Italy by the Saint-Gothard.Will that do?”
“Yes.”
“What are you looking at?”
“I am looking at you; indeed you are adorable like that! One would sayyou were carrying me off.”
“And they would be right, pardieu!”
“Oh, I think you swore, Eugénie.”
And the two young girls, whom everyone might have thought plunged ingrief, the one on her own account, the other from interest in herfriend, burst out laughing, as they cleared away every visible trace ofthe disorder which had naturally accompanied the preparations for theirescape. Then, having blown out the lights, the two fugitives, lookingand listening eagerly, with outstretched necks, opened the door of adressing-room which led by a side staircase down to the yard,—Eugéniegoing first, and holding with one arm the portmanteau, which by theopposite handle Mademoiselle d’Armilly scarcely raised with both hands.The yard was empty; the clock was striking twelve. The porter was notyet gone to bed. Eugénie approached softly, and saw the old man sleepingsoundly in an armchair in his lodge. She returned to Louise, took up theportmanteau, which she had placed for a moment on the ground, and theyreached the archway under the shadow of the wall.
Eugénie concealed Louise in an angle of the gateway, so that if theporter chanced to awake he might see but one person. Then placingherself in the full light of the lamp which lit the yard:
“Gate!” cried she, with her finest contralto voice, and rapping at thewindow.
The porter got up as Eugénie expected, and even advanced some steps torecognize the person who was going out, but seeing a young man strikinghis boot impatiently with his riding-whip, he opened it immediately.Louise slid through the half-open gate like a snake, and bounded lightlyforward. Eugénie, apparently calm, although in all probability her heartbeat somewhat faster than usual, went out in her turn.
A porter was passing and they gave him the portmanteau; then the twoyoung girls, having told him to take it to No. 36, Rue de la Victoire,walked behind this man, whose presence comforted Louise. As for Eugénie,she was as strong as a Judith or a Delilah. They arrived at theappointed spot. Eugénie ordered the porter to put down the portmanteau,gave him some pieces of money, and having rapped at the shutter sent himaway. The shutter where Eugénie had rapped was that of a littlelaundress, who had been previously warned, and was not yet gone to bed.She opened the door.
“Mademoiselle,” said Eugénie, “let the porter get the post-chaise fromthe coach-house, and fetch some post-horses from the hotel. Here arefive francs for his trouble.”
“Indeed,” said Louise, “I admire you, and I could almost say respectyou.” The laundress looked on in astonishment, but as she had beenpromised twenty louis, she made no remark.
In a quarter of an hour the porter returned with a post-boy and horses,which were harnessed, and put in the post-chaise in a minute, while theporter fastened the portmanteau on with the assistance of a cord andstrap.
“Here is the passport,” said the postilion, “which way are we going,young gentleman?”
“To Fontainebleau,” replied Eugénie with an almost masculine voice.
“What do you say?” said Louise.
“I am giving them the slip,” said Eugénie; “this woman to whom we havegiven twenty louis may betray us for forty; we will soon alter ourdirection.”
And the young girl jumped into the britzka, which was admirably arrangedfor sleeping in, without scarcely touching the step.
“You are always right,” said the music teacher, seating herself by theside of her friend.
A quarter of an hour afterwards the postilion, having been put in theright road, passed with a crack of his whip through the gateway of theBarrière Saint-Martin.
“Ah,” said Louise, breathing freely, “here we are out of Paris.”
“Yes, my dear, the abduction is an accomplished fact,” replied Eugénie.
“Yes, and without violence,” said Louise.
“I shall bring that forward as an extenuating circumstance,” repliedEugénie.
These words were lost in the noise which the carriage made in rollingover the pavement of La Villette. M. Danglars no longer had a daughter.
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 98