The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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The next two days passed in much the same way. On the evening of the 4th of 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 did her father ask for this key which she always kept, and which was only taken from her in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked at Morrel.
“What have I done wrong, father,” she said, “that you should take this key from me?”
“Nothing, my dear,” replied the unhappy man, the tears starting to his eyes at this simple question,—“nothing, only I want it.”
Julie made a pretence to feel for the key. “I must have left it in my room,” she said.
And she went out, but instead of going to her apartment she hastened to consult 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 he knew.
During the night, between the 4th and 5th of September, Madame Morrel remained listening for every sound, and, until three o’clock in the morning, she heard her husband pacing the room in great agitation. It was three o’clock when he threw himself on the bed. The mother and daughter passed the night together. They had expected Maximilian since the previous evening. At eight o’clock in the morning Morrel entered their chamber. He was calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in his pale and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he had slept. Morrel was kinder to his wife, more affectionate to his daughter, than he had ever been. He could not cease gazing at and kissing the sweet girl. Julie, mindful of Emmanuel’s request, was following her father when he quitted the room, but he said to her quickly:
“Remain with your mother, dearest.” Julie wished to accompany him. “I wish you to do so,” said he.
This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he said it in a tone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not dare to disobey. She remained at the same spot standing mute and motionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, she felt two arms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her forehead. She looked up and uttered an exclamation of joy.
“Maximilian, my dearest brother!” she cried.
At these words Madame Morrel rose, and threw herself into her son’s arms.
“Mother,” said the young man, looking alternately at Madame Morrel and her daughter, “what has occurred—what has happened? Your letter has frightened me, and I have come hither with all speed.”
“Julie,” said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man, “go and tell your father that Maximilian has just arrived.”
The young lady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first step of the staircase she found a man holding a letter in his hand.
“Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?” inquired the man, with a strong Italian accent.
“Yes, sir,” replied Julie with hesitation; “what is your pleasure? I do not know you.”
“Read this letter,” he said, handing it to her. Julie hesitated. “It concerns the best interests of your father,” said the messenger.
The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened it quickly and read:
“Go this moment to the Allées de Meilhan, enter the house No. 15, ask the porter for the key of the room on the fifth floor, enter the apartment, take from the corner of the mantelpiece a purse netted in red silk, and give it to your father. It is important that he should receive it before eleven o’clock. You promised to obey me implicitly. Remember your oath.
“Sinbad the Sailor.”
The young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked round to question the messenger, but he had disappeared. She cast her eyes again over the note to peruse it a second time, and saw there was a postscript. She read:
“It is important that you should fulfil this mission in person and alone. If you go accompanied by any other person, or should anyone else go in your place, the porter will reply that he does not know anything about it.”
This postscript decreased greatly the young girl’s happiness. Was there nothing to fear? was there not some snare laid for her? Her innocence had kept her in ignorance of the dangers that might assail a young girl of 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 that inspire the greatest terror.
Julie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through a singular impulse, 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 the day when the agent of Thomson & French had come to her father’s, related the scene on the staircase, repeated the promise she had made, and showed 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 at the corner of the Rue du Musée, and if you are so long absent as to make me uneasy, I will hasten to rejoin you, and woe to him of whom you shall have cause to complain to me!”
“Then, Emmanuel?” said the young girl with hesitation, “it is your opinion 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 decide immediately 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 hundred thousand francs to pay?”
“Yes, we know that.”
“Well, then,” continued Emmanuel, “we have not fifteen thousand francs in the house.”
“What will happen then?”
“Why, if today before eleven o’clock your father has not found someone who will come to his aid, he will be compelled at twelve o’clock to declare 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 young man knew quite well that, after the succession of misfortunes which had befallen his father, great changes had taken place in the style of living and housekeeping; but he did not know that matters had reached such a point. He was thunderstruck. Then, rushing hastily out of the apartment, 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 door open, turned, and saw his father. Instead of going direct to his study, M. Morrel had returned to his bedchamber, which he was only this moment quitting. Morrel uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of his son, of whose 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 his father’s neck; but suddenly he recoiled, and placed his right hand on Morrel’s breast.
“Father,” he exclaimed, turning pale as death, “what are you going to do with 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 are these weapons for?”
“Maximilian,” replied Morrel, looking fixedly at his son, “you are a man, and a man of honor. Come, and I will explain to you.”
And with a firm step Morrel went up to his study, while Maximilian followed him, trembling as he went. Morrel opened the door, and closed it behind his son; then, crossing the anteroom, went to his desk on which he placed the pistols, and pointed with his finger to an open ledger. In this ledger was made out an exact balance-sheet of his affairs. Morrel had to pay, within half an hour, 287,500 francs. All he possessed was 15,257 francs.
“Read!” said Morrel.
The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a word. What could 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 disastrous result?” 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 is dishonored!”
“Blood washes out dishonor,” said Morrel.
“You are right, father; I understand you.” Then extending his hand towards one of the pistols, he said, “There is one for you and one for me—thanks!”
Morrel caught his hand. “Your mother—your sister! Who will support them?”
A shudder ran through the young man’s frame. “Father,” he said, “do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?”
“Yes, I do so bid you,” answered Morrel, “it is your duty. You have a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you are no ordinary man. I make no requests or commands; I only ask you to examine my position as if it were your own, and then judge for yourself.”
The young man reflected for a moment, then an expression of sublime resignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slow and sad gesture he took off his two epaulets, the insignia of his rank.
“Be it so, then, my father,” he said, extending his hand to Morrel, “die in peace, my father; I will live.”
Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before his son, but Maximilian caught him in his arms, and those two noble hearts were pressed against each other for a moment.
“You know it is not my fault,” said Morrel.
Maximilian smiled. “I know, father, you are the most honorable man I have ever known.”
“Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and rejoin your mother and sister.”
“My father,” said the young man, bending his knee, “bless me!” Morrel took the head of his son between his two hands, drew him forward, and kissing his forehead several times said:
“Oh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and in the name of three generations of irreproachable men, who say through me, ‘The edifice which misfortune has destroyed, Providence may build up again.’ On seeing 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. Then do your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go to work, labor, young man, struggle ardently and courageously; live, yourself, your mother and sister, with the most rigid economy, so that from day to day the property of those whom I leave in your hands may augment and fructify. Reflect how glorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn, that day of complete restoration, on which you will say in this very office, ‘My father died because he could not do what I have this day done; but he died calmly and peaceably, because in dying he knew what I should 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 converted into doubt, pity into hostility; if
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