to bearer. I say there, for as I did not consider my house safe
enough, or lawyers sufficiently discreet, and as landed property
carries evidence with it, and moreover since you have no right to
possess anything independent of your husband, I have kept this sum,
now your whole fortune, in a chest concealed under that closet, and
for greater security I myself concealed it there.
"Now, madame," continued Debray, first opening the closet, then
the chest; — "now, madame, here are 800 notes of 1,000 francs each,
resembling, as you see, a large book bound in iron; to this I add a
certificate in the funds of 25,000 francs; then, for the odd cash,
making I think about 110,000 francs, here is a check upon my
banker, who, not being M. Danglars, will pay you the amount, you
may rest assured." Madame Danglars mechanically took the check, the
bond, and the heap of bank-notes. This enormous fortune made no
great appearance on the table. Madame Danglars, with tearless eyes,
but with her breast heaving with concealed emotion, placed the
bank-notes in her bag, put the certificate and check into her
pocket-book, and then, standing pale and mute, awaited one kind
word of consolation. But she waited in vain.
"Now, madame," said Debray, "you have a splendid fortune, an
income of about 60,000 livres a year, which is enormous for a woman
who cannot keep an establishment here for a year, at least. You
will be able to indulge all your fancies; besides, should you find
your income insufficient, you can, for the sake of the past,
madame, make use of mine; and I am ready to offer you all I
possess, on loan."
"Thank you, sir — thank you," replied the baroness; "you forget
that what you have just paid me is much more than a poor woman
requires, who intends for some time, at least, to retire from the
world."
Debray was, for a moment, surprised, but immediately recovering
himself, he bowed with an air which seemed to say, "As you please,
madame."
Madame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something;madame."
Madame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something;
but when she saw the careless bow of Debray, and the glance by
which it was accompanied, together with his significant silence,
she raised her head, and without passion or violence or even
hesitation, ran down-stairs, disdaining to address a last farewell
to one who could thus part from her. "Bah," said Debray, when she
had left, "these are fine projects! She will remain at home, read
novels, and speculate at cards, since she can no longer do so on
the Bourse." Then taking up his account book, he cancelled with the
greatest care all the entries of the amounts he had just paid away.
"I have 1,060,000 francs remaining," he said. "What a pity
Mademoiselle de Villefort is dead! She suited me in every respect,
and I would have married her." And he calmly waited until the
twenty minutes had elapsed after Madame Danglars' departure before
he left the house. During this time he occupied himself in making
figures, with his watch by his side.
Asmodeus — that diabolical personage, who would have been
created by every fertile imagination if Le Sage had not acquired
the priority in his great masterpiece — would have enjoyed a
singular spectacle, if he had lifted up the roof of the little
house in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres, while Debray was casting
up his figures. Above the room in which Debray had been dividing
two millions and a half with Madame Danglars was another, inhabited
by persons who have played too prominent a part in the incidents we
have related for their appearance not to create some interest.
Mercedes and Albert were in that room. Mercedes was much changed
within the last few days; not that even in her days of fortune she
had ever dressed with the magnificent display which makes us no
longer able to recognize a woman when she appears in a plain and
simple attire; nor indeed, had she fallen into that state of
depression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery;depression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery;
no, the change in Mercedes was that her eye no longer sparkled, her
lips no longer smiled, and there was now a hesitation in uttering
the words which formerly sprang so fluently from her ready wit.
It was not poverty which had broken her spirit; it was not a
want of courage which rendered her poverty burdensome. Mercedes,
although deposed from the exalted position she had occupied, lost
in the sphere she had now chosen, like a person passing from a room
splendidly lighted into utter darkness, appeared like a queen,
fallen from her palace to a hovel, and who, reduced to strict
necessity, could neither become reconciled to the earthen vessels
she was herself forced to place upon the table, nor to the humble
pallet which had become her bed. The beautiful Catalane and noble
countess had lost both her proud glance and charming smile, because
she saw nothing but misery around her; the walls were hung with one
of the gray papers which economical landlords choose as not likely
to show the dirt; the floor was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted
the attention to the poor attempt at luxury; indeed, everything
offended eyes accustomed to refinement and elegance.
Madame de Morcerf had lived there since leaving her house; the
continual silence of the spot oppressed her; still, seeing that
Albert continually watched her countenance to judge the state of
her feelings, she constrained herself to assume a monotonous smile
of the lips alone, which, contrasted with the sweet and beaming
expression that usually shone from her eyes, seemed like "moonlight
on a statue," — yielding light without warmth. Albert, too, was ill
at ease; the remains of luxury prevented him from sinking into his
actual position. If he wished to go out without gloves, his hands
appeared too white; if he wished to walk through the town, his
boots seemed too highly polished. Yet these two noble and
intelligent creatures, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal