The Count of Monte Cristo Alexandre Dumas (classic novels to read TXT) 📖

have longed for royal wealth to purchase a million of secrets from a million of men, and to find mine among them! At last, one day, when for the hundredth time I took up my spade, I asked myself again and again what the Corsican could have done with the child. A child encumbers a fugitive; perhaps, on perceiving it was still alive, he had thrown it into the river.”

“Impossible!” cried Madame Danglars: “a man may murder another out of revenge, but he would not deliberately drown a child.”

“Perhaps,” continued Villefort, “he had put it in the foundling hospital.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” cried the baroness; “my child is there!”

“I ran to the hospital, and learned that the same night⁠—the night of the 20th of September⁠—a child had been brought there, wrapped in part of a fine linen napkin, purposely torn in half. This portion of the napkin was marked with half a baron’s crown, and the letter H.”

“Truly, truly,” said Madame Danglars, “all my linen is marked thus; Monsieur de Nargonne was a baron, and my name is Hermine. Thank God, my child was not then dead!”

“No, it was not dead.”

“And you can tell me so without fearing to make me die of joy? Where is the child?”

Villefort shrugged his shoulders.

“Do I know?” said he; “and do you believe that if I knew I would relate to you all its trials and all its adventures as would a dramatist or a novel writer? Alas, no, I know not. A woman, about six months after, came to claim it with the other half of the napkin. This woman gave all the requisite particulars, and it was entrusted to her.”

“But you should have inquired for the woman; you should have traced her.”

“And what do you think I did? I feigned a criminal process, and employed all the most acute bloodhounds and skilful agents in search of her. They traced her to Châlons, and there they lost her.”

“They lost her?”

“Yes, forever.”

Madame Danglars had listened to this recital with a sigh, a tear, or a shriek for every detail. “And this is all?” said she; “and you stopped there?”

“Oh, no,” said Villefort; “I never ceased to search and to inquire. However, the last two or three years I had allowed myself some respite. But now I will begin with more perseverance and fury than ever, since fear urges me, not my conscience.”

“But,” replied Madame Danglars, “the Count of Monte Cristo can know nothing, or he would not seek our society as he does.”

“Oh, the wickedness of man is very great,” said Villefort, “since it surpasses the goodness of God. Did you observe that man’s eyes while he was speaking to us?”

“No.”

“But have you ever watched him carefully?”

“Doubtless he is capricious, but that is all; one thing alone struck me⁠—of all the exquisite things he placed before us, he touched nothing. I might have suspected he was poisoning us.”

“And you see you would have been deceived.”

“Yes, doubtless.”

“But believe me, that man has other projects. For that reason I wished to see you, to speak to you, to warn you against everyone, but especially against him. Tell me,” cried Villefort, fixing his eyes more steadfastly on her than he had ever done before, “did you ever reveal to anyone our connection?”

“Never, to anyone.”

“You understand me,” replied Villefort, affectionately; “when I say anyone⁠—pardon my urgency⁠—to anyone living I mean?”

“Yes, yes, I understand very well,” ejaculated the baroness; “never, I swear to you.”

“Were you ever in the habit of writing in the evening what had transpired in the morning? Do you keep a journal?”

“No, my life has been passed in frivolity; I wish to forget it myself.”

“Do you talk in your sleep?”

“I sleep soundly, like a child; do you not remember?”

The color mounted to the baroness’s face, and Villefort turned awfully pale.

“It is true,” said he, in so low a tone that he could hardly be heard.

“Well?” said the baroness.

“Well, I understand what I now have to do,” replied Villefort. “In less than one week from this time I will ascertain who this M. de Monte Cristo is, whence he comes, where he goes, and why he speaks in our presence of children that have been disinterred in a garden.”

Villefort pronounced these words with an accent which would have made the count shudder had he heard him. Then he pressed the hand the baroness reluctantly gave him, and led her respectfully back to the door. Madame Danglars returned in another cab to the passage, on the other side of which she found her carriage, and her coachman sleeping peacefully on his box while waiting for her.

LXVIII A Summer Ball

The same day during the interview between Madame Danglars and the procureur, a travelling-carriage entered the Rue du Helder, passed through the gateway of No. 27, and stopped in the yard. In a moment the door was opened, and Madame de Morcerf alighted, leaning on her son’s arm. Albert soon left her, ordered his horses, and having arranged his toilet, drove to the Champs-Élysées, to the house of Monte Cristo.

The count received him with his habitual smile. It was a strange thing that no one ever appeared to advance a step in that man’s favor. Those who would, as it were, force a passage to his heart, found an impassable barrier. Morcerf, who ran towards him with open arms, was chilled as he drew near, in spite of the friendly smile, and simply held out his hand. Monte Cristo shook it coldly, according to his invariable practice.

“Here I am, dear count.”

“Welcome home again.”

“I arrived an hour since.”

“From Dieppe?”

“No, from Tréport.”

“Indeed?”

“And I have come at once to see you.”

“That is extremely kind of you,” said Monte Cristo with a tone of perfect indifference.

“And what is the news?”

“You should not ask a stranger, a foreigner, for news.”

“I know it, but in asking for news, I mean, have you done anything for me?”

“Had you commissioned me?” said Monte Cristo, feigning uneasiness.

“Come, come,” said Albert, “do not assume so much