him those ten minutes were very long. It was then Albert, returning
from his meeting with the count, perceived his father watching for
his arrival behind a curtain, and turned aside. The count's eye
expanded; he knew Albert had insulted the count dreadfully, and
that in every country in the world such an insult would lead to a
deadly duel. Albert returned safely — then the count was
revenged.
An indescribable ray of joy illumined that wretched countenance
like the last ray of the sun before it disappears behind the clouds
which bear the aspect, not of a downy couch, but of a tomb. But as
we have said, he waited in vain for his son to come to his
apartment with the account of his triumph. He easily understood why
his son did not come to see him before he went to avenge his
father's honor; but when that was done, why did not his son come
and throw himself into his arms?
It was then, when the count could not see Albert, that he sent
for his servant, who he knew was authorized not to conceal anything
from him. Ten minutes afterwards, General Morcerf was seen on the
steps in a black coat with a military collar, black pantaloons, and
black gloves. He had apparently given previous orders, for as he
reached the bottom step his carriage came from the coach-house
ready for him. The valet threw into the carriage his military
cloak, in which two swords were wrapped, and, shutting the door, he
took his seat by the side of the coachman. The coachman stooped
down for his orders.
"To the Champs Elysees," said the general; "the Count of Monte
Cristo's. Hurry!" The horses bounded beneath the whip; and in five
minutes they stopped before the count's door. M. de Morcerf opened
the door himself, and as the carriage rolled away he passed up the
walk, rang, and entered the open door with his servant.
A moment afterwards, Baptistin announced the Count of Morcerf to
Monte Cristo, and the latter, leading Haidee aside, ordered that
Morcerf be asked into the drawing-room. The general was pacing theMorcerf be asked into the drawing-room. The general was pacing the
room the third time when, in turning, he perceived Monte Cristo at
the door. "Ah, it is M. de Morcerf," said Monte Cristo quietly; "I
thought I had not heard aright."
"Yes, it is I," said the count, whom a frightful contraction of
the lips prevented from articulating freely.
"May I know the cause which procures me the pleasure of seeing
M. de Morcerf so early?"
"Had you not a meeting with my son this morning?" asked the
general.
"I had," replied the count.
"And I know my son had good reasons to wish to fight with you,
and to endeavor to kill you."
"Yes, sir, he had very good ones; but you see that in spite of
them he has not killed me, and did not even fight."
"Yet he considered you the cause of his father's dishonor, the
cause of the fearful ruin which has fallen on my house."
"It is true, sir," said Monte Cristo with his dreadful calmness;
"a secondary cause, but not the principal."
"Doubtless you made, then, some apology or explanation?"
"I explained nothing, and it is he who apologized to me."
"But to what do you attribute this conduct?"
"To the conviction, probably, that there was one more guilty
than I."
"And who was that?"
"His father."
"That may be," said the count, turning pale; "but you know the
guilty do not like to find themselves convicted."
"I know it, and I expected this result."
"You expected my son would be a coward?" cried the count.
"M. Albert de Morcerf is no coward!" said Monte Cristo.
"A man who holds a sword in his hand, and sees a mortal enemy
within reach of that sword, and does not fight, is a coward! Why is
he not here that I may tell him so?"
"Sir." replied Monte Cristo coldly, "I did not expect that you
had come here to relate to me your little family affairs. Go and
tell M. Albert that, and he may know what to answer you."
"Oh, no, no," said the general, smiling faintly, "I did not come
for that purpose; you are right. I came to tell you that I also
look upon you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate youlook upon you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate you
instinctively; that it seems as if I had always known you, and
always hated you; and, in short, since the young people of the
present day will not fight, it remains for us to do so. Do you
think so, sir?"
"Certainly. And when I told you I had foreseen the result, it is
the honor of your visit I alluded to."
"So much the better. Are you prepared?"
"Yes, sir."
"You know that we shall fight till one of us is dead," said the
general, whose teeth were clinched with rage. "Until one of us
dies," repeated Monte Cristo, moving his head slightly up and
down.
"Let us start, then; we need no witnesses."
"Very true," said Monte Cristo; "it is unnecessary, we know each
other so well!"
"On the contrary," said the count, "we know so little of each
other."
"Indeed?" said Monte Cristo, with the same indomitable coolness;
"let us see. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted on the
eve of the battle of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand
who served as guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you
not the Captain Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his
benefactor, Ali? And have not all these Fernands, united, made
Lieutenant-General, the Count of Morcerf, peer of France?"
"Oh," cried the general, as it branded with a hot iron, "wretch,
— to reproach me with my shame when about, perhaps, to kill me! No,
I did not say I was a stranger to you. I know well, demon, that you
have penetrated into the darkness of the past, and that you have
read, by the light of what torch I know not, every page of my life;
but perhaps I may be more honorable in my shame than you under your
pompous coverings. No — no, I am aware you know me; but I know you
only as an adventurer sewn up in gold and jewellery. You call
yourself in Paris the Count of Monte Cristo; in Italy, Sinbad the
Sailor; in Malta, I forget what. But it is your real name I want to
know, in the midst of your hundred names, that I may pronounce it