final satisfaction — tell me the name of the president of the club,
that I may at least know who killed my father." Villefort
mechanically felt for the handle of the door; Valentine, who
understood sooner than anyone her grandfather's answer, and who had
often seen two scars upon his right arm, drew back a few steps.
"Mademoiselle," said Franz, turning towards Valentine, "unite your
efforts with mine to find out the name of the man who made me an
orphan at two years of age." Valentine remained dumb and
motionless.
"Hold, sir," said Villefort, "do not prolong this dreadful
scene. The names have been purposely concealed; my father himself
does not know who this president was, and if he knows, he cannot
tell you; proper names are not in the dictionary."
"Oh, misery," cried Franz: "the only hope which sustained me and
enabled me to read to the end was that of knowing, at least, the
name of him who killed my father! Sir, sir," cried he, turning to
Noirtier, "do what you can — make me understand in some way!"
"Yes," replied Noirtier.
"Oh, mademoiselle, — mademoiselle!" cried Franz, "your
grandfather says he can indicate the person. Help me, — lend me
your assistance!" Noirtier looked at the dictionary. Franz took it
with a nervous trembling, and repeated the letters of the alphabet
successively, until he came to M. At that letter the old man
signified "Yes."
"M," repeated Franz. The young man's finger, glided over the
words, but at each one Noirtier answered by a negative sign.
Valentine hid her head between her hands. At length, Franz arrived
at the word MYSELF.
"Yes!"
"You?" cried Franz, whose hair stood on end; "you, M. Noirtier —
you killed my father?"
"Yes!" replied Noirtier, fixing a majestic look on the young
man. Franz fell powerless on a chair; Villefort opened the door and
escaped, for the idea had entered his mind to stifle the little
remaining life in the heart of this terrible old man.Scarcely had the count's horses cleared the angle of the
boulevard, than Albert, turning towards the count, burst into a
loud fit of laughter — much too loud in fact not to give the idea
of its being rather forced and unnatural. "Well," said he, "I will
ask you the same question which Charles IX. put to Catherine de
Medicis, after the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, `How have I
played my little part?'"
"To what do you allude?" asked Monte Cristo.
"To the installation of my rival at M. Danglars'."
"What rival?"
"Ma foi, what rival? Why, your protege, M. Andrea
Cavalcanti!"
"Ah, no joking, viscount, if you please; I do not patronize M.
Andrea — at least, not as concerns M. Danglars."
"And you would be to blame for not assisting him, if the young
man really needed your help in that quarter, but, happily for me,
he can dispense with it."
"What, do you think he is paying his addresses?"
"I am certain of it; his languishing looks and modulated tones
when addressing Mademoiselle Danglars fully proclaim his
intentions. He aspires to the hand of the proud Eugenie."
"What does that signify, so long as they favor your suit?"
"But it is not the case, my dear count: on the contrary. I am
repulsed on all sides."
"What!"
"It is so indeed; Mademoiselle Eugenie scarcely answers me, and
Mademoiselle d'Armilly, her confidant, does not speak to me at
all."
"But the father has the greatest regard possible for you," said
Monte Cristo.
"He? Oh, no, he has plunged a thousand daggers into my heart,
tragedy-weapons, I own, which instead of wounding sheathe their
points in their own handles, but daggers which he nevertheless
believed to be real and deadly."
"Jealousy indicates affection."
"True; but I am not jealous."
"He is."
"Of whom? — of Debray?"
"No, of you."
"Of me? I will engage to say that before a week is past the door
will be closed against me."
"You are mistaken, my dear viscount."
"Prove it to me."
"Do you wish me to do so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce"Do you wish me to do so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce
the Comte de Morcerf to make some definite arrangement with the
baron."
"By whom are you charged?"
"By the baron himself."
"Oh," said Albert with all the cajolery of which he was capable.
"You surely will not do that, my dear count?"
"Certainly I shall, Albert, as I have promised to do it."
"Well," said Albert, with a sigh, "it seems you are determined
to marry me."
"I am determined to try and be on good terms with everybody, at
all events," said Monte Cristo. "But apropos of Debray, how is it
that I have not seen him lately at the baron's house?"
"There has been a misunderstanding."
"What, with the baroness?"
"No, with the baron."
"Has he perceived anything?"
"Ah, that is a good joke!"
"Do you think he suspects?" said Monte Cristo with charming
artlessness.
"Where have you come from, my dear count?" said Albert.
"From Congo, if you will."
"It must be farther off than even that."
"But what do I know of your Parisian husbands?"
"Oh, my dear count, husbands are pretty much the same
everywhere; an individual husband of any country is a pretty fair
specimen of the whole race."
"But then, what can have led to the quarrel between Danglars and
Debray? They seemed to understand each other so well," said Monte
Cristo with renewed energy.
"Ah, now you are trying to penetrate into the mysteries of Isis,
in which I am not initiated. When M. Andrea Cavalcanti has become
one of the family, you can ask him that question." The carriage
stopped. "Here we are," said Monte Cristo; "it is only half-past
ten o'clock, come in."
"Certainly I will."
"My carriage shall take you back."
"No, thank you; I gave orders for my coupe to follow me."
"There it is, then," said Monte Cristo, as he stepped out of the
carriage. They both went into the house; the drawing-room was
lighted up — they went in there. "You will make tea for us,
Baptistin," said the count. Baptistin left the room without waiting