At this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if each stroke
of the hammer fell upon his heart. "Explain, my child," he said,
"Explain, my child," he said, "explain — where did you find this
purse?"
"In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the corner of a
mantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor."
"But," cried Morrel, "this purse is not yours!" Julie handed to
her father the letter she had received in the morning.
"And did you go alone?" asked Morrel, after he had read it.
"Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for me
at the corner of the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say, he was not
there when I returned."
"Monsieur Morrel!" exclaimed a voice on the stairs. — "Monsieur
Morrel!"
"It is his voice!" said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel entered,
his countenance full of animation and joy. "The Pharaon!" he cried;
"the Pharaon!"
"What — what — the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You know the
vessel is lost."
"The Pharaon, sir — they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is
entering the harbor!" Morrel fell back in his chair, his strength
was failing him; his understanding weakened by such events, refused
to comprehend such incredible, unheard-of, fabulous facts. But his
son came in. "Father," cried Maximilian, "how could you say the
Pharaon was lost? The lookout has signalled her, and they say she
is now coming into port."
"My dear friends," said Morrel, "if this be so, it must be a
miracle of heaven! Impossible, impossible!"
But what was real and not less incredible was the purse he held
in his hand, the acceptance receipted — the splendid diamond.
"Ah, sir," exclaimed Cocles, "what can it mean? — the
Pharaon?"
"Come, dear ones," said Morrel, rising from his seat, "let us go
and see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be false intelligence!"
They all went out, and on the stairs met Madame Morrel, who had
been afraid to go up into the study. In a moment they were at the
Cannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave wayCannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave way
before Morrel. "The Pharaon, the Pharaon!" said every voice.
And, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean, was
a ship bearing on her stern these words, printed in white letters,
"The Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles." She was the exact
duplicate of the other Pharaon, and loaded, as that had been, with
cochineal and indigo. She cast anchor, clued up sails, and on the
deck was Captain Gaumard giving orders, and good old Penelon making
signals to M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there was
the evidence of the senses, and ten thousand persons who came to
corroborate the testimony. As Morrel and his son embraced on the
pier-head, in the presence and amid the applause of the whole city
witnessing this event, a man, with his face half-covered by a black
beard, and who, concealed behind the sentry-box, watched the scene
with delight, uttered these words in a low tone: "Be happy, noble
heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do
hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good
deeds."
And with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left his
hiding-place, and without being observed, descended one of the
flights of steps provided for debarkation, and hailing three times,
shouted "Jacopo, Jacopo, Jacopo!" Then a launch came to shore, took
him on board, and conveyed him to a yacht splendidly fitted up, on
whose deck he sprung with the activity of a sailor; thence he once
again looked towards Morrel, who, weeping with joy, was shaking
hands most cordially with all the crowd around him, and thanking
with a look the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking in
the skies. "And now," said the unknown, "farewell kindness,
humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that expand
the heart! I have been heaven's substitute to recompense the good —
now the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the
wicked!" At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaitingwicked!" At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaiting
this signal, the yacht instantly put out to sea.Towards the beginning of the year 1838, two young men belonging
to the first society of Paris, the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf and
the Baron Franz d'Epinay, were at Florence. They had agreed to see
the Carnival at Rome that year, and that Franz, who for the last
three or four years had inhabited Italy, should act as cicerone to
Albert. As it is no inconsiderable affair to spend the Carnival at
Rome, especially when you have no great desire to sleep on the
Piazza del Popolo, or the Campo Vaccino, they wrote to Signor
Pastrini, the proprietor of the Hotel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna,
to reserve comfortable apartments for them. Signor Pastrini replied
that he had only two rooms and a parlor on the third floor, which
he offered at the low charge of a louis per diem. They accepted his
offer; but wishing to make the best use of the time that was left,
Albert started for Naples. As for Franz, he remained at Florence,
and after having passed a few days in exploring the paradise of the
Cascine, and spending two or three evenings at the houses of the
Florentine nobility, he took a fancy into his head (having already
visited Corsica, the cradle of Bonaparte) to visit Elba, the
waiting-place of Napoleon.
One evening he cast off the painter of a sailboat from the iron
ring that secured it to the dock at Leghorn, wrapped himself in his
coat and lay down, and said to the crew, — "To the Island of Elba!"
The boat shot out of the harbor like a bird and the next morning
Franz disembarked at Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the island, after
having followed the traces which the footsteps of the giant have
left, and re-embarked for Marciana. Two hours after he again landed
at Pianosa, where he was assured that red partridges abounded. The
sport was bad; Franz only succeeded in killing a few partridges,
and, like every unsuccessful sportsman, he returned to the boat
very much out of temper. "Ah, if your excellency chose," said the
captain, "you might have capital sport."
"Where?"