Chapter 37 The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian
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IN
HIS whole life, perhaps, Franz had never before experienced so sudden an
impression, so rapid a transition from gayety to sadness, as in this
moment. It seemed as though Rome, under the magic breath of some demon of
the night, had suddenly changed into a vast tomb. By a chance, which added
yet more to the intensity of the darkness, the moon, which was on the
wane, did not rise until eleven o'clock, and the streets which the young
man traversed were plunged in the deepest obscurity. The distance was
short, and at the end of ten minutes his carriage, or rather the count's,
stopped before the H?tel de Londres. Dinner was waiting, but as Albert had
told him that he should not return so soon, Franz sat down without him.
Signor Pastrini, who had been accustomed to see them dine together,
inquired into the cause of his absence, but Franz merely replied that
Albert had received on the previous evening an invitation which he had
accepted. The sudden extinction of the moccoletti, the darkness which had
replaced the light, and the silence which had succeeded the turmoil, had
left in Franz's mind a certain depression which was not free from
uneasiness. He therefore dined very silently, in spite of the officious
attention of his host, who presented himself two or three times to inquire
if he wanted anything. Franz
resolved to wait for Albert as late as possible. He ordered the carriage,
therefore, for eleven o'clock, desiring Signor Pastrini to inform him the
moment that Albert returned to the hotel. At eleven o'clock Albert had not
come back. Franz dressed himself, and went out, telling his host that he
was going to pass the night at the Duke of Bracciano's. The house of the
Duke of Bracciano is one of the most delightful in Rome, the duchess, one
of the last heiresses of the Colonnas, does its honors with the most
consummate grace, and thus their fetes 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 whereabouts of his
travelling companion. Franz replied that he had left him at the moment
they were about to extinguish the moccoli, and that he had lost sight 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 a
rendezvous." "Diavolo!"
said the duke, "this is a bad day, or rather a bad night, to be 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 the
countess, "and those who are here will complain of but one thing--its
too rapid flight." "I
am not speaking," said the duke with a smile, "of the persons
who are here; 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; I meant persons who were out in the streets of Rome." "Ah,"
asked the countess, "who is out in the streets of Rome at this hour,
unless it be to go to a ball?" "Our
friend, Albert de Morcerf, countess, whom I left in pursuit of his unknown
about seven o'clock this evening," said Franz, "and whom I have
not 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, who gained
the prize in the race to-day," replied Franz; "and then
moreover, what could happen to him?" "Who
can tell? The night is gloomy, and the Tiber is very near the Via Macello."
Franz felt a shudder run through his veins at observing that the feeling
of the duke and the countess was so much in unison with his own personal
disquietude. "I informed them at the hotel that I had the honor of
passing the night here, duke," said Franz, "and desired them to
come and inform me of his return." "Ah,"
replied the duke, "here I think, is one of my servants who is seeking
you." The
duke was not mistaken; when he saw Franz, the servant came up to him.
"Your excellency," he said, "the master of the H?tel de
Londres has sent to let you know that a man is waiting for you with a
letter from the Viscount 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 the countess. "Yes,
if it is not any serious affair, otherwise I cannot answer as to what 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 carriage with orders for it to fetch him at two
o'clock; fortunately the Palazzo Bracciano, which is on one side in the
Corso, and on the other in the Square of the Holy Apostles, is hardly ten
minutes' walk from the H?tel de 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 was wrapped up in a large cloak. He went up
to him, but, to his extreme astonishment, the stranger first addressed
him. "What wants your excellency of me?" inquired the man,
retreating a step or two, as if to keep on his guard. "Are
not you the person who brought me a letter," inquired Franz,
"from the 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'Epinay." "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
up-stairs 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 to
me. Light the candles in my apartment, if you please." The inn-keeper
gave orders to a servant to go before Franz with a light. The young man
had found Signor Pastrini looking very much alarmed, and this had only
made him the more anxious to read Albert's letter; and so he went
instantly towards the waxlight, and unfolded it. It was written and signed
by Albert. Franz read it twice before he could comprehend what it
contained. It was thus worded:-- My
Dear Fellow,--The moment you have received this, have the kindness to take
the letter of credit from my pocket-book, which you will find in the
square drawer of the secretary; add your own to it, if it be not
sufficient. Run to Torlonia, draw from him instantly four thousand
piastres, and give them to 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 in Italian:-- Se
alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani,
alla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di vivere. LUIGI
VAMPA. "If
by six in the morning the four thousand piastres are not in my hands, by
seven o'clock the Count Albert will have ceased to live." This
second signature explained everything to Franz, who now understood the
objection of the messenger to coming up into the apartment; the street was
safer for him. Albert, then, had fallen into the hands of the famous
bandit chief, in whose existence he had for so long a time refused to
believe. There was no time to lose. He hastened to open the secretary, and
found the pocket-book in the drawer, and in it the letter of credit. There
were in all six thousand piastres, but of these six thousand Albert had
already expended three thousand. As to Franz, he had no letter of credit,
as he lived at Florence, and had only come to Rome to pass seven or eight
days; he had brought but a hundred louis, and of these he had not more
than fifty left. Thus seven or eight hundred piastres were wanting to them
both to make up the sum that Albert required. True, he might in such a
case rely on the kindness of Signor Torlonia. He was, therefore, about to
return to the Palazzo Bracciano without loss of time, when suddenly a
luminous idea crossed his mind. He remembered the Count of Monte Cristo.
Franz was about to ring for Signor 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 as to 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 the count. He was in a small room which Franz had not yet seen, and
which was surrounded with divans. The count came towards him. "Well,
what good wind blows you hither at this hour?" said he; "have
you come 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 the
earnestness usual to him; "and what may it be?" "Are
we alone?" "Yes,"
replied the count, going to the door, and returning. Franz gave him
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 mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani,
alla sette il conte Alberto avra 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 secretary,
opened it, and pulling out a drawer filled with gold, said to
Franz,--"I hope you will not offend me by applying to any one but
myself." "You
see, on the contrary, I come to you first and instantly," replied
Franz. "And
I thank you; have what you will; "and he made a sign to Franz to take
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 could find 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 refuse you
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 an
instant. "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 both
good." "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 at entering
mine." The count went to the window of the apartment that looked on
to the street, and whistled in a peculiar manner. The man in the mantle
quitted the wall, and advanced into the middle of the street. "Salite!"
said the count, in the same tone in which he would have given an order to
his servant. The messenger obeyed without the least hesitation, but rather
with 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 of answering, threw himself on his knees, seized the
count's hand, and covered it with kisses. "Ah,"
said the count, "you have, then, not forgotten that I saved your
life; that is strange, for it is a week ago." "No,
excellency; and never shall I forget it," returned Peppino, with an
accent 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 my friends. You
allow me to give you this title?" continued the count in French,
"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 your excellency
may address to me." "How
did the Viscount Albert fall into Luigi's hands?" "Excellency,
the Frenchman's carriage passed several times the one in which was
Teresa." "The
chief's mistress?" "Yes.
The Frenchman threw her a bouquet; Teresa returned it--all this with the
consent of the chief, who was in the carriage." "What?"
cried Franz, "was Luigi Vampa in the carriage with the Roman
peasants?" "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's consent,
did the same. The Frenchman asked for a rendezvous; Teresa gave him
one--only, instead of Teresa, it was Beppo who was on the steps of the
church of San Giacomo." "What!"
exclaimed Franz, "the peasant girl who snatched his moccoletto from
him"-- "Was
a lad of fifteen," replied Peppino. "But it was no disgrace to
your friend 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. Beppo got in,
inviting the Frenchman to follow him, and he did not wait to be asked
twice. He gallantly offered the right-hand seat to Beppo, and sat by him.
Beppo told him he was going to take him to a villa a league from Rome; the
Frenchman assured him he would follow him to the end of the world. The
coachman went up the Via di Ripetta and the Porta San Paola; and when they
were two hundred yards outside, as the Frenchman became somewhat too
forward, Beppo put a brace of pistols to his head, the coachman 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 he could not resist five armed
men, and was forced to yield. They made him get out, walk along the banks
of the river, and then brought him to Teresa 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 this is a
very likely story. What do you say to it?" "Why,
that I should think it very amusing," replied Franz, "if it had
happened to any one but poor Albert." "And,
in truth, if you had not found me here," said the count, "it
might have 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 the
catacombs 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 be difficult 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 sometimes when I
rise, or after my dinner, or in the middle of the night, I resolve 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 in the holsters. You need not
awaken the coachman; Ali will drive." In a very short time the noise
of wheels was heard, and the carriage stopped at the door. The count took
out his watch. "Half-past twelve," he said. "We might start
at five o'clock and be in time, but the delay may cause your friend to
pass an uneasy night, and therefore we had better go with all speed to
extricate him from the hands 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 door they
found the carriage. Ali was on the box, in whom Franz recognized the dumb
slave of the grotto of Monte Cristo. Franz and the count got into the
carriage. Peppino placed himself beside Ali, and they set off at a rapid
pace. Ali had received his instructions, and went down the Corso, crossed
the Campo Vaccino, went up the Strada San Gregorio, and reached the gates
of St. Sebastian. Then the porter raised some difficulties, but the Count
of Monte Cristo produced a permit from the governor of Rome, allowing him
to leave or enter the city at any hour of the day or night; the portcullis
was therefore raised, the porter had a louis 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 a sentinel appear at various points among the ruins, and
suddenly retreat into the darkness on a signal from Peppino. A short time
before they reached the Baths of Caracalla the carriage stopped, 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, and Peppino
went away, taking with him a torch, brought with them in the carriage.
Five minutes elapsed, during which Franz saw the shepherd going along a
narrow path that led over the irregular and broken surface of the Campagna;
and finally he disappeared in the midst of the tall red herbage, 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 to the bottom of a small valley.
They then perceived two men conversing in the obscurity. "Ought we to
go on?" asked Franz of the count; "or shall we wait
awhile?" "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 will
follow me, the opening of the catacombs is close at hand." "Go
on, then," replied the count. They came to an opening behind a clump
of bushes and in the midst of a pile of rocks, by which a man could
scarcely pass. Peppino glided first into this crevice; after they got
along a few paces the passage widened. Peppino passed, lighted his torch,
and turned to see if they came after him. The count first reached an open
space and Franz followed him closely. The passageway sloped in a gentle
descent, enlarging as they proceeded; still Franz and the count were
compelled to advance in a stooping posture, and were scarcely able to
proceed abreast of one another. They went on a hundred and fifty paces in
this way, and then were stopped by, "Who comes there?" At the
same 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 the count
descended these, and found themselves in a mortuary chamber. Five
corridors diverged like the rays of a star, and the walls, dug into
niches, which were arranged one above the other in the shape of coffins,
showed that they were at last in the catacombs. Down one of the corridors,
whose extent it was impossible to determine, rays of light were 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, and Franz
and the count were in utter darkness, except that fifty paces in advance
of them a reddish glare, more evident since Peppino had put out his torch,
was visible along the wall. They advanced silently, the count guiding
Franz as if he had the singular faculty of seeing in the dark. Franz
himself, however, saw his way more plainly in proportion as he went on
towards the light, which served in some manner as a guide. Three arcades
were before them, and the middle one was used as a door. These arcades
opened on one side into the corridor where the count and Franz were, and
on the other into a large square chamber, entirely surrounded by niches
similar to those of which we have spoken. In the midst of this chamber
were four stones, which had formerly served as 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 and flickering flame the singular scene
which presented itself to the eyes of the two visitors concealed in the
shadow. A man was seated with his elbow leaning on the column, and was
reading with his back turned to the arcades, through the openings of which
the newcomers contemplated him. This was the chief of the band, Luigi
Vampa. Around him, and in groups, according to their fancy, lying in their
mantles, or with their backs against a sort of stone bench, which went all
round the columbarium, were to be seen twenty brigands or more, each
having his carbine within reach. At the other end, silent, scarcely
visible, and like a shadow, was a sentinel, who was walking up and down
before a grotto, which was only distinguishable because in that spot the
darkness seemed more dense than elsewhere. When the count thought Franz
had gazed sufficiently on this picturesque tableau, he raised his finger
to his lips, to warn him to be silent, and, ascending the three steps
which led to the corridor of the columbarium, entered the chamber by the
middle arcade, and advanced towards Vampa, who was so intent on the book
before him that he did not hear the noise of his footsteps. "Who
comes there?" cried the sentinel, who was less abstracted, and who
saw 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 were
levelled at the count. "Well," said he in a voice perfectly
calm, and no muscle of his countenance disturbed, "well, my dear
Vampa, it appears to me that you receive a friend with a great deal of
ceremony." "Ground
arms," exclaimed the chief, with an imperative sign of the hand,
while with the other he took off his hat respectfully; then, turning to
the 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," said
the count, "and that not only do you forget people's faces, but also
the conditions you make with them." "What
conditions have I forgotten, your excellency?" inquired the bandit,
with the air of a man who, having committed an error, is anxious to repair
it. "Was
it not agreed," asked the count, "that not only my person, but
also that 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 Vicomte Albert de
Morcerf. Well," continued the count, in a tone that made Franz
shudder, "this young gentleman is one of my friends--this young
gentleman lodges in the same hotel as myself--this young gentleman has
been up and down the Corso for eight hours in my private carriage, and
yet, I repeat to you, you have carried him off, and conveyed him hither,
and," added the count, taking the letter from his pocket, "you
have set a ransom on him, 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 have
you caused me thus to fail in my word towards a gentleman like the count,
who has all our lives in his hands? By heavens, if I thought one of you
knew that the young gentleman was the friend of his excellency, I would
blow his brains out with my own hand!" "Well,"
said the count, turning towards Franz, "I told you there was some
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 I
desired to prove that Luigi Vampa was a man of his word. Come, your
excellency," the count added, turning to Franz, "here is Luigi
Vampa, who will himself express to you his deep regret at the mistake he
has committed." Franz approached, the chief advancing several steps
to meet him. "Welcome among us, your excellency," he said to
him; "you heard what the count just said, and also my reply; let me
add that I would not for the four thousand piastres at which I had fixed
your friend's ransom, that this had happened." "But,"
said Franz, looking round him uneasily, "where is the Viscount?--I do
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 in
front of which the bandit was on guard, "and I will go myself and
tell him 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
hour I have not heard him stir." "Come
in, your excellency," said Vampa. The count and Franz ascended seven
or eight steps after the chief, who drew back a bolt and opened a door.
Then, by the gleam of a lamp, similar to that which lighted the
columbarium, Albert was to be seen wrapped up in a cloak which one of the
bandits had lent him, lying in a corner in profound slumber.
"Come," said the count, smiling with his own peculiar smile,
"not so bad for a man who is to be shot at seven o'clock to-morrow
morning." Vampa looked at Albert with a kind of admiration; he was
not insensible to such a proof of courage. "You
are right, your excellency," he said; "this must be one of your
friends." Then going to Albert, he touched him on the shoulder,
saying, "Will your excellency 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's with the Countess G----." Then he drew his watch from his
pocket, that he might see how time sped. "Half-past
one only?" said he. "Why the devil do you rouse me at this
hour?" "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;' if you had let me sleep on, I should have finished my galop,
and have been grateful 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 Monte
Cristo." "Oh.
my dear count." said Albert gayly, arranging his cravat and
wristbands, "you are really most kind, and I hope you will consider
me as under eternal obligations to you, in the first place for the
carriage, and in the next for this visit," and he put out his hand to
the Count, who shuddered as he gave his own, but who nevertheless did give
it. The bandit gazed on this scene with amazement; he was evidently
accustomed to see his prisoners tremble before him, and yet here was one
whose gay temperament was not for a moment altered; as for Franz, he was
enchanted at the way in which Albert had sustained the national honor in
the presence of the bandit. "My dear Albert," he said, "if
you will make haste, we shall yet have time to finish the night at
Torlonia's. You may conclude your interrupted galop, so that you will owe
no ill-will to Signor Luigi, who has, 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 fulfil
before 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. "l
will show you the way back myself," said the captain; "that is
the least honor that I can render to your excellency." And taking the
lighted torch from the hands of the herdsman, he preceded his guests, not
as a servant who performs an act of civility, but like a king 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 for
your mistakes in so gentlemanly a way, that one almost feels obliged to
you for having committed them." "Gentlemen,"
added the chief, turning towards the young men, "perhaps the offer
may not appear very tempting to you; but if you should ever feel inclined
to pay me a second visit, wherever I may be, you shall be welcome."
Franz and Albert bowed. The count went out first, then Albert. Franz
paused 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 were
perusing with so much attention as we entered." "C?sar'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. I am 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 in Arabic
to Ali, and the horses went on at great speed. It was just two o'clock by
Albert's watch when the two friends entered into the dancing-room. Their
return was quite an event, but as they entered 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 am
rather late in claiming this gracious promise, but here is my friend,
whose character for veracity you well know, and he will assure you the
delay 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 with her in the
whirl of dancers. In the meanwhile Franz was considering the singular
shudder that had passed over the Count of Monte Cristo at the moment when
he had been, in some sort, forced to give his hand to Albert. |
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