Meanwhile the man who had caused all this trouble after having almost run quite a distance along the Rue du Helder, utterly oblivious of the attention he drew to himself from the rare passers, turned into the Rue Taitbout, thence reached the Rue de Provence and finally found himself in the Cite d' Antin. There he made his way into a small drinking-shop or caboulot, patronized by some of the worst prowlers about that section of Paris. The room he entered was unoccupied save by a slatternly young woman, who sat behind the counter reading a greasy copy of the Gazette des Tribunaux. The man went to the counter and, throwing down the price, demanded a glass of brandy, which he swallowed at a gulp. Then he addressed the slatternly young woman, who, with her paper still in one hand, was half-smiling, half-scowling at him.

"Is Waldmann here?" he asked, with the air of a man who feels himself thoroughly at home.

"Yes," answered the young woman, resuming her seat and her reading; "he is in the back room, playing piquet with Peppino, Beppo and Siebecker."

"Good!" said the man. "I am in luck. I scarcely expected to find them all in at this hour."

With this he opened a glazed door, and, stepping into the back room, closed it behind him. The players, who were seated at a table, with mugs of beer beside them, glanced up quickly from their game as he came in, and one of them, a heavy-framed, beetle-browed German, called out to him, speaking French:

"How now, Bouche-de-Miel, what is the matter? You are out of breath and as pale as if you had been shadowed by an Agent de la Surete!"

"I have not been shadowed, Waldmann," answered the beggar or Bouche-de-Miel, "but I have made a startling discovery."

The players at once put down their cards and leaned forward to hear. They were a rough, desperate-looking set; on their ill-omened and sunburnt visages thief could be read as plainly as if it were written there, and perhaps, also, the still more significant word, assassin! Two of the men were Italians, evidently the Peppino and Beppo referred to by the slatternly young woman at the counter in the outer room. Besides Waldmann there was another German. This was Siebecker. Tall, slim, with yellow hair and moustache, he had some claim to good looks; his attire was quite respectable compared to that of the rest; had he not possessed a pair of restless, demoniac eyes, he might have passed for a person of tolerably fair repute, but those glaring, tiger-like orbs betrayed his true character and stamped him as a very dangerous member of the criminal fraternity. Waldmann appeared to be the leader of the coterie. The Italians wore blue blouses, but the distinctive garment of the Parisian workman could not conceal a certain brigandish air that was second nature to them.

"Let's hear about your startling discovery, Bouche-de-Miel," said Waldmann. "Take a seat and tell us."

The beggar dropped upon a wooden chest, saying, in a tone of deep dejection, as he did so:

"Much as I long to take a hand in to-night's little job, I'm afraid you'll have to let me off!"

"Stuff!" cried Waldmann. "You are afraid of meeting that terrible fellow, the Count of Monte-Cristo! But the startling discovery—out with it, man!"

"Yes; the discovery, the discovery!" demanded the others, impatiently.

"Well," said Bouche-de-Miel, "I went to the Rue du Helder this morning, as agreed upon, and made a survey of Monte-Cristo's mansion. Nothing easier than to get in, as no watch is kept at night, and the Count is not in the least suspicious although he has millions of francs in his safe, to say not a word of jewels and other valuables. As I was about leaving the premises, I stopped at a little gate giving access to the garden from the street, having noticed that the key had been carelessly left in the lock on the outside. I was leaning against the gate, taking a wax impression of this key, which would assure us entrance without trouble, when, happening to glance through the grating into the garden, I saw two women; they had noticed me and seemed greatly frightened. Instantly I thrust my hand through the bars and asked for charity. One of the women summoned up sufficient courage to arise and approach me; she was about to give me some money, when suddenly she recognized me in spite of all the changes in my appearance. I also recognized her and hastened away as rapidly as I could."

"Well, what of all this?" said Waldmann, calmly. "It amounts to nothing whatever."

"It amounts to so much that I cannot go with you to Monte-Cristo's house and run the risk of meeting that woman!"

Waldmann gave vent to a loud laugh; the others smiled.

"I never before heard of a Frenchman who was afraid to meet a woman!" said Siebecker, much amused.

"I tell you I cannot go; you must let me off," said Bouche-de-Miel, obstinately.

"What!" cried Peppino. "Do you allow a woman to stand between you and your vengeance against the Count of Monte-Cristo? Remember Luigi Vampa's bill of fare!"

Bouche-de-Miel glared at the Italian savagely.

"There is no need for me to remember it," returned he, bitterly. "I have never forgotten it. Neither have I forgotten your share in that infamous business!" he added, between his teeth.

"It was my duty to do as I was bidden!" retorted Peppino.

"I will have my revenge on you yet!" muttered Bouche-de-Miel, menacingly.

"We shall see!" answered the Italian, defiantly.

Waldmann interposed and said, sternly:

"No quarreling! We are brothers and are united for mutual gain. Bouche-de-Miel, you must go with us to-night. I order you to go and will take no excuse! Besides, if, as Peppino says, you have vengeance to gratify against the Count of Monte-Cristo, the opportunity is too precious for you to neglect it! At any rate, go you shall! Where is the wax impression of the key?"

Bouche-de-Miel handed the German a small package which, he took from his pocket. Waldmann gave it to Siebecker, directing him to fashion a key in accordance with it. In the meantime the beggar had been thinking. His face showed that a fierce struggle was taking place in his mind, a struggle between fear and a burning desire for revenge. The latter ultimately triumphed, and the beggar, rising from the chest, went to the table, bringing his fist down upon it with a resounding blow.

"I will accompany you, mates!" he said, with wildly flashing eyes and in an excited voice. "Monte-Cristo robbed me, ruined me and drove me into the world a penniless vagrant! I will have my revenge!"

"Spoken like a hero!" said Waldmann, enthusiastically. "We will meet at the little gate on the Rue du Helder at midnight. Siebecker will give you the key, Bouche-de-Miel, and you will open the gate. You need not fear recognition, even if you should meet the woman you have spoken of face to face, for you will be masked like the rest of us. If you are anxious about her safety, I will tell you now that we only want Monte-Cristo's millions; we do not mean murder."

"But what if murder should be necessary, if it cannot be avoided?"

Waldmann shrugged his shoulders.

"Then we must protect ourselves," he answered, phlegmatically.

Thereupon the coterie of miscreants separated, to pass away the hours as best they might, until the time for the brilliant stroke they meditated arrived.



CHAPTER XII.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

The Count of Monte-Cristo was in his study, pacing to and fro; he was plunged in thought, and an expression indicative of deep concern was upon his pale, but resolute countenance. Ever and anon he would pause in front of a small table on which was a telegraphic outfit for the sending and receiving of messages, listening with close attention to the sounds given forth, for, although sound reading was not much practiced by the telegraphers of that period, Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have all the accomplishments of his own age and those of ages to come, was a proficient at it, as well as a remarkably rapid and correct operator.

It was nearly midnight. The entire family in the mansion of the Rue du Helder had retired to rest, with the exception of its head, who had remained up in response to a summons from Berlin to be ready to receive the details of a secret meeting of a vast society of Prussian patriots, which would be sent to him in cipher by one of his most enthusiastic and active agents for the promotion of the cause of universal human liberty. The intense heat that had prevailed all day had been but slightly moderated by the advent of a close, sultry night; there was not the faintest breeze in the heavy, oppressive air, and the blue sky, full of stars and flooded with brilliant moonlight, was without a cloud. The silvery brightness poured in through the open windows of the study, so illuminating the apartment that the Count had extinguished his lamp. Fantastic shadows were projected on the floor by the book-cases and various articles of furniture, looking like gigantic and dwarfed shapes of demons and elfs and lending the scene a weird, supernatural aspect. Monte-Cristo walked amid these distorted shadows like some master magician communing with the dark, mysterious spirits that received his commands in silence and then vanished to execute them without question or debate.

The Count's thoughts were of a sombre nature; he was pondering over the problem of French freedom, wondering how long the volatile, changeful nation with which he had cast his lot would retain the liberty acquired by the revolution that had overturned Louis Philippe's throne and given the people power. He distrusted the events of the near future. Already the Bonapartists were active and Louis Napoleon was looming up as a formidable figure. The nephew of the great conqueror of Europe professed republican sentiments, but Monte-Cristo doubted his sincerity as well as his ability to govern the restless population of Paris. He foresaw imitation of the famous Emperor; his prophetic eye pierced through Louis Napoleon's presidential aspirations and saw beyond them a second Empire not less brilliant but not more substantial than the first. The policy of the Bonapartes was to dazzle the masses, the men of the barricades, by a show of grandeur and amuse rather than force them into submission. The Count had held aloof from Louis Napoleon, had even opposed him to the full extent of his mighty influence; he had done so not from any personal considerations, but for the good of the entire French people, for the preservation intact of the fabric of freedom, the fruit of the revolution of 1848.

Meanwhile, as these thoughts coursed through Monte-Cristo's active brain, the telegraphic instrument went ticking steadily on, but the information he expected was not conveyed. News flashed to him from every centre of political agitation save Berlin; there an obstinate, ominous silence prevailed. Several times he sought to open communication with his confederate in the Prussian capital, but his signals were unanswered. At last he paused wearily in his walk, throwing himself in a huge arm-chair; fatigue weighed upon his eyelids and he speedily sank into an uneasy, broken sleep, from which he started at intervals, disturbed by some vague, disquieting dream. Ever and anon, as he dozed, that smile that made him so handsome would steal over his manly countenance, bringing out into bold relief all his wonderful nobility and benevolence of expression.

As midnight struck in every clock-tower in Paris, the usual solitude of the Rue du Helder at that dead hour was broken by the appearance of a sinister figure at the little gate of Monte-Cristo's garden. This figure was almost instantly followed by another hardly less forbidding. Both wore masks and moved as stealthily as cats. The second figure addressed the first, speaking in a cautious whisper:

"Bouche-de-Miel, is that you?"

"Yes. Siebecker, have you the key?" muttered the other, scarcely above his breath.

"Here it is, old man. Now to work. The others will be on hand in a moment. Open the gate and let us get in."

Bouche-de-Miel took the key, which was covered with oil to prevent grating, and inserted it in the lock. It fitted to a charm and turned noiselessly. Bouche-de-Miel gave the gate a gentle push; it yielded, swinging open without a sound. The two men passed inside, partially closing it after them. The moonlight fell upon the seat that Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had occupied beneath the honey-suckle-covered arbor that morning; Bouche-de-Miel gave a sudden start as he glanced at it, half-repenting of having yielded to Waldmann's command under the impulse of his hatred for Monte-Cristo and his desire for revenge; he trembled violently in spite of all his efforts to maintain composure and his face became one mass of sweat beneath his protecting mask. Siebecker noticed his agitation and gave vent to a smothered curse.

"Sacre nom d' un chien!" he muttered, between his teeth, "if you go on like that, old man, it would have been better had Waldmann let you off. You can't do this job with an unsteady hand. Brace up, brace up, Bouche-de-Miel! What's that?"

There was a slight noise at the gate. Grasping his tremulous companion by the arm, Siebecker hurriedly drew him behind a clump of small chestnut trees. No sooner were they hidden than three masked men cautiously opened the gate and came on tip-toe into the garden. Waldmann, Peppino and Beppo had arrived and were ready to do their share of the nefarious work. Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel silently emerged from their hiding-place and joined them.

Waldmann glanced about him, evidently satisfied.

"So far so good," said he, in an undertone. "We are all here on time. Do not let us waste an instant. Have you steadied your nerves with plenty of brandy, Bouche-de-Miel?"

"I'm all right," replied the latter, doggedly, though there was a perceptible quiver in his voice as he spoke.

"He has just had another fit of fear," said Siebecker, disdainfully. "I think we would do well to leave him with Peppino and Beppo to keep watch in the garden! It won't be safe to take him with us into the house, Waldmann!"

The leader went up to Bouche-de-Miel and gave him a rough shake.

"You are a coward!" said he, savagely. "That woman story you told us was all bosh. You are afraid of meeting Monte-Cristo, as I saw very plainly this morning!"

This taunt stung Bouche-de-Miel to the quick and restored to him all his courage. He faced Waldmann unflinchingly and retorted:

"I am no coward and I am not afraid of Monte-Cristo!"

"Then what is the matter with, you?"

"That is my business, but it shan't damage this night's work. I will go with you to the house and do my part as well as you or Siebecker. You said not to waste an instant. What are you waiting for? Go on!"

"Do you swear to stand by us to the last whatever happens?"

"I swear it!"

"I will trust you."

"And you will have no reason to repent of your trust. If I meet Monte-Cristo I will kill him as I would a mongrel cur! Does that satisfy you?"

"How about your mysterious woman?"

Bouche-de-Miel could not repress a start, but he clenched his fists firmly and replied, with an effort:

"Never mind her! She must take care of herself!"

"Who is she?"

"Never mind her, I say! If harm comes to her it will be her own fault!"

Waldmann appeared reassured; nevertheless he whispered in Bouche-de-Miel's ear with a terrible earnestness that plainly showed he meant what he said:

"I told you I would trust you, and I will. But if you weaken, if you seek to act the traitor to save that woman, I will blow your brains out where you stand!"

Bouche-de-Miel shrugged his shoulders.

"If I weaken, if I seek to betray you, shoot me on the spot! I give you leave! But if you use your pistol, it will be on other game than me! Let us to work!"

Leaving the two Italians on guard at the gate, Waldmann and Siebecker, with Bouche-de-Miel between them, went stealthily towards the house, walking on the grass that the sound of their footsteps might be muffled. They kept well in the shadows of the trees, reaching the rear of the mansion unobserved and without incident. Waldmann removed his shoes and the others followed his example.

"Everything is silent," he whispered. "No doubt all the members of the household, including the redoubtable Count himself, are fast asleep. We shall have an easy thing of it."

He went upon the back porch and tried the door of the servants' quarters. It had been carelessly left unlocked. He opened it and peered within. Only darkness and silence there. He beckoned to his comrades; they also came on the porch. Waldmann produced a dark lantern from under his coat; the three robbers entered Monte-Cristo's house.

"The Count's study where he keeps his money is on the second floor," whispered Bouche-de-Miel. "We can reach it by going up the servants' stairway over there."

He pointed across the small corridor in which they stood. Waldmann cautiously opened his lantern and the narrow thread of light that came from it revealed the stairway. The miscreants mounted it and, guided by Bouche-de-Miel, who seemed to be thoroughly familiar with the topography of the mansion, were soon in front of Monte-Cristo's study. The door was ajar. Bouche-de-Miel glanced in, but instantly withdrew his head, motioning Waldmann and Siebecker to look. They did so, and saw a man asleep in an arm-chair; simultaneously a sharp click in the room alarmed them; they clenched their teeth, set their lips firmly together and drew their pistols. The sharp click was repeated, followed in rapid succession by several others. It was the telegraphic instrument—the news from Berlin had come!

Instantly the Count was wide awake. He leaped from his chair and ran to the instrument, to the clicking of which he eagerly and intently listened. The vast society of Prussian patriots had met. The delegates had been long in arriving, for, although the utmost secrecy had been used, the royal police had got wind of their presence in the capital and of the proposed assemblage. Still, it was hoped that the meeting would not be disturbed, as the rendezvous was in a secluded locality, of which, it was thought, the authorities were not suspicious. Scarcely, however, had the president taken his seat when the police poured in through every door and window. All the patriots were arrested, save Monte-Cristo's confederate, who by a lucky chance succeeded in deceiving the myrmidons of the law.

The Count's brow clouded as he heard this startling intelligence ticked off by the telegraphic instrument. He put his hand to his forehead at the conclusion of the ominous message and staggered like a drunken man back to his arm-chair, into which he sank. As he did so, Waldmann, Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel, who immediately rushed forward, seized him and held him there with the strength of iron. Waldmann slipped a gag into his mouth and Siebecker bound him firmly to the chair with a stout cord he took from his pocket. The binding accomplished, the robbers quitted their hold of the Count and turned in search of the plunder they had come for—the millions of Monte-Cristo!

Suddenly there was a loud cry. It came from Bouche-de-Miel. The others turned and looked at him, their pistols in their hands. He was staring at a white-robed woman, who stood like a ghost in the open doorway of the study. At that juncture another door opened and Ali, the faithful Nubian, followed by all the valets of the household, sprang into the room, falling upon the bewildered scoundrels ere they had recovered from their surprise. There was a brief struggle, but the servants were unarmed, and the robbers, disengaging themselves from the clutches of their adversaries, kept them at bay with their pistols and slowly backed from the apartment. In the conflict, however, Bouche-de-Miel's mask was torn from his face, and his countenance was no sooner visible than the white-robed woman ran towards him with outstretched arms, breathlessly exclaiming:

"My father! my father!"

Bouche-de-Miel motioned her from him; then he moved as if to approach her, urged on by a feeling he was altogether unable to master; but Waldmann, still keeping his pistol pointed at Ali and his companions, seized him by the arm with a grip of iron and drew him away. The foiled robbers succeeded in making their escape from the house, and the garden.

The Count of Monte-Cristo had been unbound and ungagged by Ali when the robbers had left the study. Alarmed by the unwonted noise and commotion, Captain de Morcerf, Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had appeared upon the scene, but too late to witness the conflict with the miscreants. In a few words the Count explained to them what had happened. Zuleika glanced at Mlle. d' Armilly as if she suspected that the strange beggar of that morning had something to do with this midnight invasion of their home; Louise looked uneasy and agitated, but preserved a stony silence.

The white-robed woman still stood as if stupefied. Mlle. d' Armilly went to her and asked, solicitously:

"Eugenie, what is the matter?"

This question aroused young Madame de Morcerf, for it was she, from her stupor. She threw herself into a chair and covered her face with her hands, moaning piteously:

"Oh! Louise! Louise! I have seen my father! He was one of the robbers! It is terrible, terrible!"

Captain de Morcerf, who had gone to his wife's side and tenderly taken her hand, gazed inquiringly at the Count.

"I saw the man she speaks of perfectly," said Monte-Cristo, in reply to his look, "and he was certainly the Baron Danglars!"



CHAPTER XIII.

MORCERF'S ADVENTURE.

The Count of Monte-Cristo took no steps to have the miscreants who had invaded the sanctity of his home tracked and apprehended; he did not even instruct the Commissary of Police of the quarter in regard to what had happened. He was entirely satisfied that the sole aim of the wretches had been robbery, and, as that aim had been defeated, he did not desire to court further publicity by putting the matter in the hands of the authorities. One thing, however, gave the Count considerable uneasiness, namely, the fact that Danglars had been one of the robbers. He did not doubt that the former banker, whom he had financially wrecked and forced to fly ignominiously from Paris in the past in pursuit of his scheme of wholesale vengeance against the enemies of his youth, had planned the robbery in order to gratify his burning thirst for revenge; he also felt equally certain that Danglars meant further mischief, if he could accomplish it, and that his presence in the city would be a constant menace to his tranquillity and prosperity, nay, even to his domestic happiness; but his feelings had undergone a radical change since the old days of restless, inexorable retribution, and he now pitied the man he had so ruthlessly overthrown as much as he had formerly hated him. Danglars had fallen very low, indeed, to be the companion and accomplice of midnight marauders, and the Count's very soul ached as he thought to what depths of poverty and ignominy he had been the means of reducing him. He would have sought him out amid the dangerous criminal population of Paris, traced him to his den of depravity and wretchedness, and offered him money and the means of social rehabilitation had there been the slightest reason to hope that he could thereby rescue the miserable man from the slough of iniquity into which he was plunged, but he knew too well Danglars' implacable character and deep-seated hatred against himself to attempt anything of the kind. Should he penetrate into his haunts and meet him the result could only be disastrous, for Danglars would take a fiendish delight in betraying him to his desperate associates, who would not hesitate even to murder him at his bidding, and the former banker was fully capable of compassing his assassination in the most horrible fashion as a crowning stroke of diabolical revenge. There was a time when Monte-Cristo valued life very little, when he would gladly have accepted death as a welcome avenue to endless rest and peace, but that time had passed; since then he had contracted ties that bound him to existence with insurmountable strength; he had now a family, was surrounded by beings he tenderly loved and cherished, beings for whom he must live and over whose destinies he must closely watch. He was wedded to Mercedes, who lavished upon him in her maturity all the wealth of overwhelming affection she had showered upon him before the fateful conspiracy that had consigned him as the sailor Dantes to the dark, noisome dungeon of the Chateau d' If and given her to the arms of Fernand, the Catalan. Haydee had fluttered over the page of his stormy, agitated history, leaving him Esperance and Zuleika as reminders of a happy, but all too brief dream, an elfin vision of enchantment that had vanished as swiftly as it had come. But his son and daughter had twined themselves about the fibres of his heart as the clinging ivy twines about the shattered fragments of some grand and imposing ruin, and each day, each moment, as it sped by, only served the more to reveal to him the longings and the devotion of a father's soul. Besides, Albert de Morcerf and his young wife Eugenie were now thoroughly endeared to him, and he felt that by doing everything in his power to augment their happiness he was gradually paying off the heavy debt he owed to Danglars' so long abandoned child. Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo wished to live, first for his family, then for the great cause of human liberty with which he had become so thoroughly identified. If Danglars came in his way he would endeavor to reclaim and propitiate him, but he could not seek him out.

Mercedes at the period of the attempted robbery was absent on a visit to some friends in Marseilles, and by common consent it was resolved not to inform her of Danglars' reappearance, as the intelligence could not fail to be a prostrating shock to her.

Ever since that memorable midnight scene in Monte-Cristo's study young Madame de Morcerf had acted like one overwhelmed. She said nothing, even to her husband or Louise d' Armilly, concerning her wretched father, but it was plain that intense grief and shame were preying upon her. This greatly distressed Albert and, seeing his beloved wife droop day by day, he, without saying a word to any one, formed a startling and perilous resolution. He determined to find Danglars' abode, to see his father-in-law and endeavor to persuade him to relinquish his career of crime. In this he was actuated by two powerful motives—the desire to relieve Eugenie's distress and suspense and the wish to avoid the scandal that would be sure to come should the former banker be caught red-handed in the commission of some fearful crime and a legal investigation reveal his identity.

Zuleika studiously avoided referring to the attempted robbery and the recognition of Danglars by her father and Eugenie. She was aware of the part Monte-Cristo had played in his enemy's fall and disgrace, and did not deem it prudent to awaken the bitter recollections of the lurid and dreadful past.

Mlle. d' Armilly also said nothing in reference to the reappearance of Danglars, but it was very clear to the observant Zuleika that she expected and dreaded further harm from Monte-Cristo's revengeful enemy. At night she locked herself in her chamber, and, notwithstanding the almost unbearable heat of the weather, securely closed and fastened all her windows.

The Count himself was as reserved as ever, never once mentioning either the midnight invasion of his mansion or the unexpected advent of his most deadly foe. To everybody in the household he seemed either to have forgotten or to have succeeded in dismissing from his mind those events so fraught with excitement and possibilities of future disaster. But Monte-Cristo, though he preserved an impassible exterior, had neither forgotten nor dismissed them. He had simply applied to himself his own famous maxim, "Wait and Hope." He was waiting and hoping for the best, for God in His inscrutable wisdom to bring mysterious good out of apparent evil.

Meanwhile Captain de Morcerf had been busily engaged in making thorough but cautious investigations. He had formed the acquaintance of a former Agent de la Surete, who had been of great use to him in describing the various outlaws and prowlers of Paris, and in pointing out to him their secret dens and the secluded places of rendezvous where they met, drank vile liquors, and, under the maddening influence of absinthe and alcohol, plotted their crimes and atrocities of every description. This man, another Quasimodo in point of hideous aspect, had been dismissed from the detective service because of his inability to keep sober, but he had not forgotten the resources of his profession, and money lavishly bestowed upon him made him Captain de Morcerf's most obedient and faithful slave. Cash in hand rendered him indefatigable and the prospect of obtaining more kept him discreet. He had taught his employer the art of effectually disguising himself, of passing for a veritable zigue, and, as he was well-known to the desperadoes he had formerly shadowed and was welcomed by them as a sterling good fellow, he was enabled to take the Captain with impunity among scoundrels who would not have hesitated to cut his throat had they known who he was.

As Albert did not know what name Danglars had assumed and was unwilling to give the ex-detective his true cognomen, the latter had nothing to guide him in this respect. Neither was the Captain cognizant of the changes that time and his mode of life had wrought in the former banker's personal appearance, so he could only describe him as he had looked in the years gone by. This afforded Mange, such was the name of the dismissed policeman, no indication whatever by which he could profit. He, nevertheless, was not disconcerted by the paucity of information. He knew that young Morcerf was searching for a man who had been one of the party engaged in the attempt to rob the Monte-Cristo mansion on the Rue du Helder, and that knowledge was sufficient for him. He very soon discovered that Waldmann, Siebecker, Bouche-de-Miel and two Italians had formed that party, and Bouche-de-Miel being the only Frenchman in the coterie he had no difficulty whatever in fixing upon him as the individual wanted. He imparted his discovery and conclusion to his employer, together with the intelligence that the men were in the habit of congregating in the little caboulot of the Cite d' Antin. Albert rewarded Mange liberally for his zeal and promised him a very much larger sum should Bouche-de-Miel turn out to be his man. It was immediately arranged that Mange should conduct the Captain to the caboulot that very night and, if possible, bring him face to face with the Frenchman supposed to be Danglars.

In accordance with this agreement, as soon as night had fallen, Mange was waiting for his employer at the corner of the Rue Taitbout and the Rue de Provence. He was not kept long at his post, for Albert speedily made his appearance, dressed in a blouse like a workman; his rough trousers were tucked in the tops of his dusty boots and on his head he wore a battered slouch hat that looked as if it might have seen service behind the revolutionary barricades. Mange surveyed him with a long glance of admiration; then taking him to a neighboring street lamp, he critically examined his face, which was stained to represent the bronzing effect of the sun and smeared with dirt.

"Capital!" exclaimed the ex-detective, as he finished his scrutiny. "You are a zigue out and out! Not a trace of the boulevardier to be seen! The most keen-scented vache in the caboulot would be completely deceived!"

Albert smiled at his companion's enthusiasm.

"Well, as I pass examination," he said, "let us go on at once. Do you think our man will be at the caboulot?"

"Do I think water will run down hill!" cried Mange, with a laugh that resembled nothing so much as the discordant croak of a crow. "He never misses a night, and this is the hour when the brandy begins to flow!"

Albert shuddered at this remark, suggesting as it did the certainty that he would find Eugenie's father a sot as well as a thief. He, however, took Mange's arm and together they strolled leisurely into the Cite d' Antin, making their way to the caboulot without meeting a single suspicious prowler.

They entered the front room where Bouche-de-Miel had found the slatternly young woman reading her greasy copy of the Gazette des Tribunaux on the morning preceding the attempted robbery. She was at her accustomed place behind the counter, but was not reading; eight or ten stalwart ruffians monopolized her attention and, as she furnished her thirsty customers with the various fiery beverages they demanded, she showered her most captivating glances right and left among them. She was as slatternly as ever, but her hair was shining with bear's grease and a strong odor of musk pervaded her garments; a paste diamond of enormous size but of doubtful brilliancy ornamented her breastpin and on her stumpy, grimy fingers were numerous brass rings containing dull imitations of rubies, amethysts and topazes.

As the new comers came in, Waldmann, standing in front of the counter with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, was chaffing her.

"See here, Beurre-Sans-Sel," he said, with a well-counterfeited air of intense admiration, "you are looking like a real beauty to-night. I will wager anything you expect a lover. I never saw you put on such style before. I declare you far outshine the demoiselles of the public balls!"

"Oh! Monsieur Waldmann, how you talk!" returned the girl, with an affected simper and an unsuccessful attempt to blush.

Just then the German looked around and caught sight of Mange, who was looking his ugliest. The spirit of mischief was strong upon him and he instantly cried out:

"I knew it; I knew you were expecting a lover and here he is promptly on time! Come now own up, my little Beurre-Sans-Sel, did you not put on all your pretty fixings for Mange?"

"For that ugly old gorilla!" exclaimed the girl, unceremoniously and disdainfully. "I can get better-looking lovers than either a monkey or a Swab, I'd have you to know, Monsieur Waldmann!"

There was a general laugh at this sally, and none laughed louder than Mange, who had a taste for coarse jokes and sharp retorts.

"So!" said Waldmann, after the merriment had subsided. Then he perceived Mange's companion for the first time. He examined him closely and suspiciously. Albert did not shrink from his scrutiny, but the ex-detective deemed it prudent to set matters right at the start by a formal introduction of his employer; he, therefore, motioned to Albert to follow him and walked up to the German, offering him his hand, which the latter shook cordially.

The Captain now stood beside Waldmann in front of the counter and Mange presented him without delay.

"Monsieur Waldmann," said he, "permit me to make you acquainted with my friend Fouquier, from Dijon, a bon zigue."

"Monsieur Fouquier," said the German, taking Albert's outstretched hand, "I am glad to know you, especially as you come so well recommended."

Mange bowed in acknowledgment of this little tribute to himself.

Morcerf replied that the pleasure was mutual.

Waldmann's suspicions seemed to be allayed.

"Take something," he said. "Here, Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel, join us in drinking the health of Monsieur Fouquier from Dijon!"

Albert was instantly on the alert and Mange watched him attentively as the two individuals named emerged from a corner of the room and lounged up to the counter. There was another presentation, a double one this time, Waldmann doing the honors. Mange required no introduction. Everybody appeared to know him. Beurre-Sans-Sel put forth brandy and glasses, and the health of Monsieur Fouquier was drunk enthusiastically. When this ceremony ended Morcerf called for cigarettes and distributed them among the coterie; then he had leisure to examine Bouche-de-Miel; the latter had turned his back to the counter and leaned his elbows upon it; in this position, with his cigarette between his teeth, he looked the perfect picture of vagabondish idleness. Mange was still watching Morcerf, but saw no sign that he had recognized in Bouche-de-Miel the man for whom he was seeking. This made him uneasy, for it was an indication that the reward his employer had promised him would not be earned.

Presently Waldmann and Siebecker were called to another part of the room. Bouche-de-Miel remained, continuing to smoke his cigarette, with his elbows on the counter where he had placed them after the health-drinking. The Captain's thoughts were of a conflicting nature. Everything pointed to the fact that the man before him was his father-in-law, but, unlike Mlle. d' Armilly, he saw nothing in him suggestive of the Baron Danglars of other days. Could this vagabond, this wretch, be Danglars? If so, how was it to be proved to his satisfaction? How, above all, in this place, in this den of thieves and cutthroats? The man was certainly the party Eugenie had recognized on the night of the attempted burglary as her father, the party Monte-Cristo himself had so positively pronounced to be the former banker. But was it not probable that his wife and the Count had been mistaken? Was it not probable that they had been deceived by some fancied resemblance when excitement had possessed them to such a degree that it had deprived them of the full use of their mental faculties? At any rate he had come to the caboulot to experiment with Bouche-de-Miel and he would not shrink from cautiously applying the test.

Their cigarettes were now consumed. Albert, in pursuance of his scheme, invited Bouche-de-Miel and Mange to take seats at a table and have some more brandy. They accepted the invitation with alacrity, and the three were soon drinking and chatting. Repeated potations finally opened Bouche-de-Miel's lips; he began to be confidential.

"You may not believe me, messieurs," said he, "but I was not always as you see me now!"

Mange winked triumphantly at his employer. Revelations which might be important were coming. Perhaps he would yet earn the promised reward. Morcerf was listening attentively.

"No, sacre nom d' un chien, I was not always a zigue! Once I had immense wealth, I counted my money by millions! I had position, too, and I may say without egotism that I was honored by the best people of Paris!"

He paused and drained another glass of brandy.

"What were you?" asked Mange.

Albert waited breathlessly for the answer to this question.

"What was I?" repeated Bouche-de-Miel. "You may laugh, but I was a banker!"

Morcerf could not avoid giving a start. The vagabond, half-drunk as he was, noticed it and asked:

"What is the matter with you, Fouquier? Do you think the lie so tremendous that you can't keep still?"

The young man was glad to accept this interpretation of his behavior; he touched his glass to his lips and said, with a forced smile:

"Well, I do think you are going it rather strong!"

"Not half strong enough, mon Dieu!" cried Bouche-de-Miel, bringing his fist down on the table with such force that the glasses were nearly knocked off. "Not half strong enough, I tell you, messieurs, for I was a Baron as well as a banker!"

Albert groaned. Mange looked at him with sparkling eyes; he was now sure that the promised money was within his reach, that his clutch would soon close on it. His enforced sobriety since he had been in the Captain's employ made him anxious for a prolonged, reckless spree, frightfully anxious, and his guarded potations since he entered the caboulot had whetted his devouring appetite for alcohol to such an extent that he could scarcely keep it in subjection with the plentiful supply of brandy on the table, almost at his very lips.

Bouche-de-Miel did not hear Morcerf's groan; his misty eyes were fixed upon space, seemed to be peering into the depths and recesses of the distant past. The Captain judged that the time had come to draw the final, the crowning admission from his lips. He touched him lightly on the arm. The man turned and glanced at him inquiringly. Morcerf's heart beat wildly; it was with great difficulty that he kept his agitation under control. He hurriedly scanned the other occupants of the room—some were very drunk and stupid, others noisy and demonstrative, but all were too busy with their own concerns and pleasures to pay even the slightest attention to the little party at the table; Waldmann and Siebecker were asleep on opposite ends of a bench in a corner. Bouche-de-Miel had meanwhile relapsed into his misty reverie. Albert touched his arm again.

"Don't bother me!" said the man, impatiently, without removing his eyes from space. "Can't you let a fellow dream!"

"Baron Danglars!" whispered Morcerf in his ear.

"Eh? What?" cried Bouche-de-Miel, coming back to reality with a start, half-sobered by hearing this name.

"Baron Danglars," repeated the Captain, in a guarded undertone, "I know you!"

The man got upon his feet lumberingly and unsteadily; he clutched Albert's shoulder convulsively.

"You are an Agent de la Surete!" he hissed. "You have come here to arrest me!"

The attention of some of the less intoxicated ruffians was being excited by Bouche-de-Miel's behavior, but their ears had failed to seize his words amid the prevailing din. Mange, with his usual keenness and quickness, saw that something must instantly be done to quiet Albert's companion or all the miscreants who could stir would be aroused and come thronging about them to throttle the supposed Agent de la Surete. He, therefore, gave a loud laugh and said to Bouche-de-Miel:

"Don't be a fool, old man! Monsieur Fouquier belong to la rousse! That's a good joke! ha! ha! Why he is as much in danger of the violon as you are! ha! ha!"

He arose, still laughing, and, playfully taking Bouche-de-Miel by the collar, gently forced him back into his chair. As he did so, he glanced at Beurre-Sans-Sel. The slatternly young woman had her hand on the screw of the huge lamp suspended above the counter, by which alone the room was lighted, ready to turn it out and leave the whole place in darkness at the first alarm. She was evidently accustomed to police descents and knew how to act in such cases. Mange's words and merriment, however, reassured her and she withdrew her fingers from the screw.

But Bouche-de-Miel was not altogether satisfied. He sat uneasily in his chair, facing Morcerf and anxiously scanning his countenance.

"What did you mean by calling me Baron Danglars and saying that you knew me?" he asked, in a low, somewhat tremulous voice.

Instead of replying directly to this question, the young man said, slowly and in a half-whisper:

"I am Albert de Morcerf, the husband of your daughter Eugenie!"

"What!" exclaimed Bouche-de-Miel. "Eugenie married—and to you!"

"Yes," said the Captain, "Fate has again brought us together after a long and painful separation."

"I saw Eugenie in the house of the Count of Monte-Cristo, no matter how, no matter when. What was she doing there?"

"Monte-Cristo is married to my mother, Mercedes, and we are living with him."

"Living with him—Eugenie, my daughter, living beneath the roof of the man who ruined her father and made him what he is!"

Bouche-de-Miel grew absolutely livid with rage; he was entirely sobered now and all his evil instincts had full possession of him.

"I will never forgive her—or you!" he hissed.

"Listen to me," said Albert, with comparative calmness. "I have come here to-night at the risk of my life to offer you money, the means of rehabilitation. Be advised. Leave these miscreants with whom you are associated and become a man again!"

"I reject both your offer and advice!" said Bouche-de-Miel, excitedly. "They are insults, coming as they do from the stepson of Monte-Cristo, my relentless enemy! But I will have vengeance upon you for them and through you on Edmond Dantes! Ho, Waldmann Siebecker!"

The two Germans awoke, sprang from their bench and advanced towards the table.

Mange uttered a groan of despair. He could do nothing now to avert the impending danger.

Bouche-de-Miel had leaped to his feet and grappled with Albert de Morcerf. Waldmann and Siebecker, realizing that something was wrong and at once connecting the alleged Monsieur Fouquier with it, drew long, keen-bladed knives as they rushed forward.

All the thieves and marauders who were sober enough to stand were now on their feet, ready to hurl themselves upon the suspected man. Weapons flashed in every direction—daggers, knives and pistols. Loud oaths and abusive epithets were heard on all sides; it was a perfect pandemonium, a babel of evil sounds.

Amid all the confusion and danger Mange's self-possession did not desert him. Seeing that it was useless to attempt to pacify the surging pack of desperadoes, he determined upon a bold measure, one that would enable him to save Captain de Morcerf and, at the same time, keep up his reputation with the criminal frequenters of the caboulot, with whom he desired for reasons of his own to be on good terms. He ran to the counter, where Beurre-Sans-Sel already had her hand on the screw of the hanging lamp, waiting for events to decide what action she should take. He leaned over the counter and whispered to the girl:

"Beurre-Sans-Sel, I was deceived in Monsieur Fouquier. He imposed upon me. He told me he was from Dijon. He turns out to be a Parisian and an Agent de la Surete. He has betrayed himself. More Agents are coming! They will be here in a moment! Put off the light!"

The girl did not hesitate a second; she gave the screw a quick twist and the caboulot was instantly as dark as a tomb.

Having executed this manoeuvre, Mange sprang to Albert de Morcerf's side, striking Bouche-de-Miel a crushing blow in the face that caused him to lose his grip of the young man. Then, seizing his employer in his brawny arms, he lifted him as if he had been a child and ran with him to the front door; this he opened, leaping into the street with his burden.

"Now run for your life!" he exclaimed, depositing the young man on the sidewalk.

With this he started off at a tearing pace, closely followed by Morcerf. They did not pause until they had reached the Rue de Provence, where, in the blaze of the lights, amid the throngs of honest citizens, they were safe.



CHAPTER XIV.

ZULEIKA AND MME. MORREL.

Quite a long time had elapsed since the sudden departure of the Viscount Massetti from Paris, but Zuleika was still in complete ignorance as to his whereabouts and actions. He was in Rome, of that she had not the slightest doubt. She was equally convinced that his errand there was to establish his innocence of the terrible crime imputed to him by Luigi Vampa, to obtain proofs that would clear him in the eves of her father and herself, if not of all the world. Why, therefore, did he not write, why did he not give her some sign that she would understand? His silence discouraged the young girl, filled her with uneasiness. It seemed to indicate that he had not succeeded, had not been able to wipe the stain from his record. If so she would never see him again, for Giovanni was too proud to reappear in her presence with a dishonored name, a sullied reputation. This thought was torture, and Monte-Cristo's daughter felt that should her lover desert her she could not live.

As the days rolled by without a word of intelligence from the Viscount, Zuleika's fears assumed greater consistency and weight. She grew sad, inexpressibly sad; her look lost its brightness, her voice its cheery tone and her step its elasticity. The bloom faded from her youthful cheeks, giving place to an ashen pallor. She was no longer interested in her accustomed occupations and amusements, and would sit for hours together with her hands crossed in her lap, dominated by sorrowful and dismal forebodings.

Mercedes noticed her condition, and, ascribing it to its proper cause, strove in a motherly way to rouse and console her, but without effect. She spoke to the Count about it, begging him to use his influence to cheer his child, but Monte-Cristo only shook his head, saying that they must trust to the soothing power of time which could not fail ultimately to do its work. Esperance pitied his sister sincerely, but refrained from interfering, well knowing that nothing he could say would be productive of good. Albert de Morcerf, his wife and Mlle. d' Armilly, who had learned of Zuleika's love affair and the dark shadow that had fallen upon it, felt a delicacy about alluding to the matter and, therefore, held aloof; besides, they were too much depressed by the circumstances under which Danglars had reappeared to be able to exert a cheering influence.

When Mercedes returned from Marseilles she was accompanied by Maximilian and Valentine Morrel, who immediately went to the mansion on the Rue du Helder and paid their respects to the Count of Monte-Cristo, their benefactor. It was their intention to make only a brief call, taking up their residence during their sojourn in Paris at that famous stopping-place for strangers, the Grand Hotel du Louvre on the Rue de Rivoli adjoining the Palais Royal, but Monte-Cristo would not hear of such a thing, insisting that the young soldier and his wife should be his guests and partake of his hospitality. They were not reluctant to consent to this agreeable arrangement, as it would enable them to enjoy uninterruptedly the society of their dearest friends.

Mme. Morrel at once took a deep interest in Zuleika. She saw that some sorrow was heavily weighing on the young girl, and, rightly divining that the tender passion had much to do with it, immediately endeavored to inspire her with a degree of confidence sufficient to bring about revelations. In this Mme. Morrel was not actuated by curiosity. Her motive was altogether laudable; she desired to serve the Count of Monte-Cristo, to do something to show her gratitude for the overwhelming benefits he had in the past showered upon her husband and herself, and could conceive no better or more effectual way than by striving to relieve Zuleika. She, therefore, promptly set about her praiseworthy but difficult task, resolved to bring back the roses to the young girl's cheeks and restore hope to her sad and dejected heart.

She began by using every womanly art to induce Zuleika to love her and look upon her as a friend of friends. In this initial step she succeeded even beyond her most ardent anticipations. From the first Monte-Cristo's daughter was attracted towards her, and it required very little effort on Mme. Morrel's part to win her completely. Valentine's disposition was so sweet and her sympathy so sincere that Zuleika could not help loving her; besides, the romantic story of her love for Maximilian and the terrible trials she had undergone before being united to him through Monte-Cristo's potent influence, with which she was thoroughly acquainted, predisposed Giovanni's betrothed to regard her as a woman to whom she could open her heart and from whom she might derive supreme solace, if not consolation. Valentine's quick and penetrating eyes read the young girl like the pages of an open book, and she was not slow in utilizing the advantages she acquired.

Things had been going on in this way for several days, when one evening Mme. Morrel proposed a promenade in the garden to Zuleika with a view of bringing matters to a crisis. She gladly acquiesced in the proposition and soon they were strolling in the moonlight amid the fragrant flowers and centenarian trees. It was a sultry night, but there was a pleasant breeze that agreeably fanned the cheeks of Valentine and her youthful companion. Mme. Morrel had matured her plan, but Zuleika herself unexpectedly came to her aid, assisting her to put it into immediate and practical execution.

After walking for a short space, they seated themselves in a magnificent pavilion or summer-house situated at the extremity of the garden. It was built of white stone, the walls being perforated by several tall archways that supplied the place of both windows and doors. Ivy and other clustering vines clambered about the exterior, creeping through the archways and furnishing the ceiling with a verdant canopy exceedingly inviting and refreshing to the eye weary of contemplating the dust and dryness of the streets parched by the summer sun. Without were several great silver maple trees and numerous ornamental shrubs. Mme. Morrel drew close to Zuleika on the rustic bench they occupied and, taking the young girl's hand, said to her, in a soft voice:

"This is a delicious spot, my child."

"Yes," replied Monte-Cristo's daughter, "it is, indeed, delicious. When here, I always feel as if I could pour out my whole heart into the bosom of some faithful friend."

"Do so in this instance, my dear," said Mme. Morrel, persuasively. "I trust I am a faithful friend, as well as a discreet one."

"I believe you," rejoined Zuleika. "Ever since you have been in our house I have felt so and longed to make you my confidante, but I have hesitated to take such a step, fearing to burden you with troubles that might distress you."

"Have no further fears on that score then, but speak freely and with the certainty that in your sorrows, whatever they may be, you will find me a sincere sympathizer and comforter."

Zuleika took Valentine's hand, and, gazing into her face with tearful eyes, said:

"You have noticed that I had sorrows, Mme. Morrel?"

"Yes; how could I help it? But I have done more; I have divined their cause!"

Zuleika gave a slight start.

"Divined their cause, Mme. Morrel?"

"Yes," answered Valentine. "You are in love!"

The young girl blushed, but appeared relieved. Mme. Morrel had divined her love, had divined that her sorrows arose from it, but she had not divined the nature of the shadow that clouded her budding life and filled her with grief and apprehension.

"Zuleika," continued Valentine, with the utmost tenderness and consideration, "I, too, have loved, deeply and desperately; I, too, have felt all the bitter pangs that arise from separation; but I have realized my dream at last, and the shadows that surrounded me have been swept away by the blessed sunshine of union and happiness. Confide in me, my child. If I cannot drive your shadows from you, I can at least give you true sympathy and the consolation that it affords."

"They will be welcome to me, unspeakably welcome, madame," replied Zuleika, tremulously.

"Then tell me all."

"I cannot, madame; I have no right to; but I can tell you enough to wring your heart, to show you how unfortunate I am."

"My poor girl, I understand and appreciate your scruples. You do not wish to compromise your lover, and you are right. Your decision does you honor. Is the man you love in Paris?"

"Alas! no. I believe he is in Rome."

"Then you do not know his whereabouts with certainty?"

"No, madame."

"Does your father disapprove of his suit?"

"He did not at the outset, but very painful circumstances have since arisen, causing him to alter his determination, or, at least, hold his consent in abeyance. Still, I think, he believes Giovanni can and will refute the dreadful charge that has been made against him."

"Giovanni? Your lover is then an Italian?"

"Yes, the Viscount Giovanni Massetti."

"You became acquainted with him here in Paris?"

"No, madame; in Rome."

"And you think he has gone thither to clear himself of the charge you mention?"

"Yes, madame. He came to Paris to solicit my hand, but suddenly disappeared after the terrible charge was made. I have not heard from him since and his silence weighs upon me like lead."

"I do not wonder at it; but, perhaps, after all, he is only waiting for a complete vindication and does not wish to write until he has everything satisfactorily arranged. I do not ask you the nature of the charge, Zuleika, and would not allow you to state it to me even if you were so disposed. But answer me one question. You have entire faith in Giovanni's innocence, have you not?"

"I have, madame."

"You are sure he loves you, that he has not trifled with your affections?"

"I am sure, madame."

"He is young, is he not?"

"Yes, madame, he is young."

"Doubtlessly his fault, whatever it may have been, was simply an indiscretion due to his years that has been magnified and made to assume unwarranted proportions by the tongues of envy and scandal. If so, he will repair it and return to you. If he is altogether innocent, as you feel convinced, he will move heaven and earth to justify himself in your father's eyes and yours. Love is potent, Zuleika, and will accomplish miracles. Trust Giovanni and trust Heaven! All will yet be made right between your lover and yourself!"

"Would that I could feel so, madame, but I cannot!"

"And why, pray?"

"Because Giovanni evidently has powerful enemies in Rome and its vicinity who, no doubt, are at this moment operating against him and using all their efforts to prevent him from succeeding in his mission."

"What makes you think he has such remorseless enemies?"

"A letter my father received from Rome in response to inquiries he made and the illusion—it must be an illusion—under which my brother Esperance labors in regard to Giovanni."

"Your brother Esperance! Then he believes in young Massetti's guilt?"

"Alas! yes; he firmly believes in it and stigmatizes the Viscount as the worst of scoundrels."

"Has he given you the reasons for his belief, has he stated them to your father?"

"He has dealt only in vague, mysterious allusions; an oath of silence, it appears, prevents him from speaking out."

"An oath of silence?"

"Yes, and Giovanni is also likewise bound."

"Indeed! What is your lover's reputation in Rome?"

"Of the very best; he is there regarded as the soul of honor."

"Save by his enemies. So far so good. Do you know the standing of his family?"

"It is one of the oldest, most respected, most aristocratic and wealthiest in the Eternal City."

"Another strong point in the young man's favor. Zuleika, I am satisfied that the mystery surrounding your lover can be cleared away; but I am also satisfied that he needs assistance, the assistance of persons deeply interested in you, who have your welfare at heart and cherish your happiness as their own."

"But such persons cannot be found, madame. Of course my father and brother are deeply interested in me, have my welfare at heart and desire to see me happy. They, however, are not disposed to aid Giovanni, my brother for reasons of his own and my father because he thinks that the Viscount should work his own rehabilitation. No, madame, such persons as you mention cannot be found."

"They can be found, Zuleika, and you will not have far to look for them either!"

Mme. Morrel gazed at Monte-Cristo's daughter with enthusiasm in her fine eyes. The girl was at a loss to understand her.

"Surely you do not mean Albert de Morcerf and Eugenie?" she said.

"No," replied Valentine. "They love you, undoubtedly, but the needful assistance is not to be obtained from them."

"Certainly you cannot allude to Mlle. d' Armilly or Ali, my father's devoted Nubian servant?"

"No, I do not allude to them!"

"Whom then do you mean?"

"Cannot you guess, Zuleika?"

A sudden thought came to Zuleika, filling her with intense amazement.

"You cannot mean yourself and your husband, Mme. Morrel?" she gasped.

"And why not, my child?" answered Valentine, sweetly. "All the assistance we can render you will be but a weak, inadequate return for what your father has done for us. He saved me from death, withdrew the suicidal pistol from Maximilian's hand, comforted us in our time of darkest despair, and finally brought us together after a separation that even M. Morrel deemed eternal, simultaneously placing in our hands wealth sufficient to make us altogether independent of the accidents and disasters of this world. Besides, before that he was the benefactor of M. Morrel's father, saving him also from suicide, suicide that he had determined upon as the only means of avoiding terrible disgrace. You see, Zuleika, that we have abundant motives for aiding you."

"Oh! madame—Valentine—you utterly overwhelm me! How can I show my gratitude to you?"

"By accepting my offer!"

These words were accompanied by a look of ineffable tenderness and sincerity. They instantly brought hope to Zuleika's heart. She burst into a flood of tears, but they were tears of joy. Still, she hesitated. What would her father say if she accepted Mme. Morrel's generous proposition?

"Do you accept, Zuleika?" pursued Mme. Morrel.

"I thank you from the depths of my soul, madame; but I cannot accept the sacrifice you and your kind, manly husband would make for me! My father would censure me, would never forgive me for adopting such a selfish course!"

"Trust your father to me, my child."

"Oh! madame! Accept your offer without consulting him?"

"There is no need to consult him, there is no need for him to know anything whatever about the matter, for the present at least. It will be time enough to tell him what we have done when success has crowned our efforts. Should we unhappily fail, a thought that I cannot for an instant entertain, there will be no occasion to tell him anything at all."

At that moment a man's voice was heard calling at a distance:

"Valentine, Valentine, where are you?"

"It is Maximilian," said Mme. Morrel to Zuleika. "He comes very opportunely!" Then raising her voice she answered him: "Here, Maximilian, here, in the summer pavilion at the extremity of the garden!"

The husband hastened to the spot, and Valentine, making him seat himself beside her and Monte-Cristo's daughter, told him all she had just learned. She also communicated to him the offer she had made to Zuleika, adding:

"You will consent to it, I know, Maximilian!"

"Gladly," answered the young soldier. "Had you not made the proposal, I should have made it myself!"

"Then we have but to induce Zuleika to authorize us to act. The poor child, however, hesitates, fearing the Count's displeasure."

"She need not authorize us," said Maximilian quickly. "We will assume the entire responsibility on the step! But it will be necessary for her to confide in us more fully, to give us the data upon which to build our plans. I will get letters of introduction to the Viscount Massetti and, once acquainted with him, the rest will be easy."

Later that night Zuleika told Mme. Morrel everything without reserve, even giving her a little note to Giovanni which stated that Valentine and Maximilian were her dearest friends and had come to Rome expressly to aid him in his troubles.

A week after the momentous interview in the pavilion M. and Mme. Morrel set out for Italy, informing their friends in the mansion on the Rue du Helder that they intended being absent some time, but refraining from giving even the slightest hint of the object of their journey.



CHAPTER XV.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

One morning shortly after the departure of the Morrels for Rome, the Count of Monte-Cristo was driving along the Champs-Elysees in his elegant barouche drawn by a pair of spirited, blooded bays, when, near the Rond-point, his progress was suddenly checked by a great, tumultuous concourse of people. Leaning from his carriage, he asked a workman the cause of the unwonted commotion and was informed that two Italians had been arrested for theft and were being taken to the poste of the quarter by a couple of gardiens de la paix. He thought nothing of the circumstance and was calmly waiting for an opportunity to proceed when the crowd about the barouche opened and the officers appeared with their captives. The Count was not much interested, but, nevertheless, bestowed a passing glance upon the malefactors, who were loudly protesting their innocence in broken, almost unintelligible French, and offering a stout resistance. They were roughly attired in blue blouses, wearing felt hats that were pulled down and obscured their countenances. One of the men in custody caught hold of a spoke of a wheel of Monte-Cristo's vehicle, grasping it with such iron firmness that all the efforts of the policeman in charge of him failed to shake off his clutch. The Count ordered Ali, who was acting as coachman, to hand him the reins, dismount and assist the gardien.

At the sound of his voice, the man who had grasped the spoke looked up with a start and, without relaxing his hold, cried out in Italian:

"Say a word for me, your Excellency! The Count of Monte-Cristo should have as much power over the myrmidons of the French law as over Luigi Vampa and his band!"

This exclamation amazed and startled the Count, so strange and unlooked for was it. He gazed penetratingly at the malefactor who had uttered it, but his scrutiny was unrewarded by recognition.

"Who are you?" he asked, as soon as his amazement permitted him to speak, also making use of the Italian language. "You are a perfect stranger to me, yet you know my name and seem acquainted with some of my actions in the past. Who are you?"

"I am Peppino," answered the man, without taking his eyes from the Count. "My companion who is being dragged away yonder is Beppo."

"Peppino?—Beppo?" said the Count, musingly. "Surely I have heard those names before, but they are common in Italy, especially in Rome, and I have been there frequently. Be more explicit, man."

"I will," replied the Italian. "I am the Peppino who served you so well when Luigi Vampa held the French banker, Danglars, in captivity at your behest. As for Beppo, you cannot have forgotten him; he also was a member of Vampa's band at that period."

"Yes," said Monte-Cristo, "I remember both of you now, but what can I do for you? Paris is vastly different from Rome, and my influence with the French police is not by any means equal to that I wielded over Vampa and his brigands at the time you speak of."

"The Count of Monte-Cristo's power is unbounded anywhere in the entire world," rejoined the man, his brightened visage showing clearly the extent of his faith. "A word from him will release both Beppo and myself. Speak that word, your Excellency, and set us free!"

Ali had refrained from interfering when he heard this singular conversation, which he fully understood. He was waiting for further orders from his master.

The policeman grew impatient and, giving the Italian a rough shake, said to him:

"Come now, let go that spoke and submit. Don't you see that you are disturbing the Count of Monte-Cristo? His Excellency will do nothing for such a scoundrel as you. Come, let go that spoke, I say!"

Peppino, however, would not obey and continued to supplicate the Count to interfere in behalf of Beppo and himself. At last, driven to desperation by Monte-Cristo's inaction, he cried out to him:

"If your Excellency will do nothing for us without recompense, I will give that recompense; I will tell you in exchange for your efforts in our behalf all I know concerning the black conspiracy against the Viscount Giovanni Massetti!"

The Count was visibly moved by this speech. He stared at Peppino as if he thought that he had not heard aright.

"The Viscount Giovanni Massetti! A black conspiracy against him! What do you mean?" he inquired, quickly.

"Just what I say, your Excellency," answered the Italian. "I know that the Viscount visited the Palazzo Costi in Rome when you inhabited it with your family, and that he fell in love with your daughter. I also know the details of a plot by which a network of crushing circumstances has been woven about him with the view of burying him beneath a weight of shame, dishonor and even of crime! I can reveal those details and will do so if you aid my companion and myself in our present difficulty. Do I interest you, Signor Count?"

"Vastly," answered Monte-Cristo, his face assuming a serious look. "Go quietly with the gardien to the poste. I will follow immediately and see what can be done."

"Yes, your Excellency," said Peppino, submissively, and abandoning his grasp of the spoke he allowed the policeman to bear him away without further trouble. Meanwhile Beppo and the officer in whose custody he was had disappeared in the distance.

Those who had been near enough to the Count's barouche to witness this extraordinary scene were greatly astonished that such a famous character as the eloquent Deputy from Marseilles should stoop to converse with a malefactor in the public street, but their astonishment was immeasurably augmented when they saw the influence the celebrated orator exercised over the depraved Italian. They had not been able to understand the conversation, but the effect of Monte-Cristo's last words seemed little less than miraculous to them and they rent the air with loud and enthusiastic cheers.

"Long live the noble Count of Monte-Cristo! Long live the Deputy from Marseilles, the people's friend!" was shouted on every side.

Further on the cry was taken up and repeated, ringing forth far along the broad and beautiful Champs-Elysees!

Monte-Cristo arose in his barouche and, removing his hat, stood bareheaded, bowing to the excited populace.

This was the signal for new and heartier cheers. But the criminals having been removed, the crowd soon began to disperse. At length the thoroughfare was cleared and the Count's vehicle could proceed. Ali had impassibly resumed the driver's seat and, at a nod from his adored master, started the spirited horses down the immense avenue. As the blooded bays went prancing along with proudly arched necks, the Count bent over and said to Ali:

"Drive at once to the poste of the quarter."

The Nubian skilfully wheeled the animals about and in a few minutes Monte-Cristo had reached his destination.

At the door of the poste a gardien received him and, at the mention of his name, obsequiously conducted him to the officer in charge. The latter, a short, determined-looking man with a bristling gray moustache and gray hair that stood almost on end upon his little round head, recognized his illustrious visitor at a glance. He hastily arose from the desk at which he was seated, engaged in examining the reports of his subordinates, and politely offered him a chair. Then he asked, deferentially:

"To what am I indebted for so distinguished an honor as a call from the Count of Monte-Cristo?"

"Monsieur," replied the Count, taking the proffered seat, "two Italians were arrested a short time ago on the Champs-Elysees and brought hither."

"Yes," said the chief of the poste, "and great scoundrels they are, too! We have been shadowing them for some time, but could never detect them in any overt act until to-day. They belong to a very dangerous gang of prowlers, led by a shrewd German named Waldmann, whose headquarters are in a wretched caboulot of the Cite d' Antin."

"Of what are these Italians accused, that is what is the present specific charge against them?"

"They were caught picking pockets in the crowd thronging about a marionette show."

"Is the evidence against them conclusive?"

"It is."

"That is unfortunate," said the Count, "as one of them is in possession of information of the utmost importance to me. He has made partial revelations, but sets as the price of a full disclosure my interference in behalf of himself and his comrade in crime. What can be done?"

"I do not see," replied the chief, in perplexity. "It is impossible for me to let the men off."

"But is there not some way in which I could obtain a mitigation of their punishment?"

"Oh! as for that, yes," said the officer, brightening. "If you would speak to the Procureur de la Republique, I am sure he would grant you the minimum sentence in such cases. Perhaps," added he, as a sudden thought struck him, "he might even be induced not to press the prosecution, in which event the men would be discharged."

"Thank you, monsieur," said the Count, rising. "I will act upon your wise suggestion without delay. But can you grant me a small favor? Can you allow me a brief interview with the man calling himself Peppino?"

"Undoubtedly," answered the chief, in a cordial voice, "and I shall be very glad to do so if it will assist you any."

"It will enable me to assure the man that I am at work and have some hope of success."

"Then follow me."

The chief, who had remained standing out of compliment to the Count, took a large key from a rack behind his desk and opened a door leading into a long, dimly-lighted corridor. Monte-Cristo followed him through this gloomy passage until they came to a cell before which the chief stopped. The large key grated in the lock, the door of the cell swung open with an ominous sound and the Count found himself face to face with the former Roman bandit.

Peppino was sitting on the edge of an iron bedstead, the very picture of despair. He thought that Monte-Cristo had deserted him, that he would not interfere even with the prospect of obtaining the details of the plot against young Massetti. As the Count entered the cell his countenance brightened instantly and hope was renewed in his bosom. The chief discreetly withdrew, saying as he did so:

"I will wait without, in the corridor."

With these words he closed the door of the cell and Monte-Cristo found himself alone with Peppino.

All the light that made its way into the gloomy cell came through a small grated window high up in the wall, placed at such a distance from the floor that no prisoner could reach it even by climbing upon his bedstead. The walls and ceiling were of stone.

"Well," asked Peppino, "how has your Excellency succeeded?"

"I have made but little progress as yet, though I hope to be able to do something for you and Beppo in a very short time," answered the Count, in a reassuring voice.

"I am satisfied," said Peppino, cheerily. "If your Excellency only determines upon it, Beppo and myself will shortly be free!"

"I cannot go that far, my good fellow, but I can and do promise you all my aid and influence can effect."

"They will effect everything necessary, Signor Count," replied the Italian, confidently.

"Do not hope for too much, Peppino. I have told you that Paris is different from Rome."

"I have occasion now to know that," rejoined the outlaw, bitterly. "But the power of the Count of Monte-Cristo is the same here as in the campagna!"

"Keep up a stout heart, at all events, my good fellow. We shall soon know what can be done."

"I will keep up a stout heart, Signor Count, for I have perfect faith in you!"

"So be it. Now, my man, what do you know about the plot against the Viscount Massetti?"

"Pardon me, Signor Count," said the Italian, shrewdly, "but I will tell you that when Beppo and myself are at liberty!"

Monte-Cristo smiled at the man's cunning.

"At least," he said, "tell me if you have seen the Viscount recently."

"I will do that, your Excellency. I saw him a very short time ago in Rome and afterwards with Luigi Vampa and Pasquale Solara in the marshy country beyond the Trastavere."

"What brought you and your companion to Paris?"

"We had a disagreement with old Solara, whom Luigi Vampa insisted we should obey implicitly. Solara was a tyrant; besides, he was as greedy and avaricious as a miser; he wanted everything for himself and would allow us nothing; he demanded that all the booty we acquired should be brought directly to him without division, stating that he would parcel out our shares; this he invariably failed to do and naturally we rebelled. Vampa, who has become, if he was not always so, old Pasquale's fast friend, decided against us whenever we carried our complaints to him. Finally we could stand it no longer; we were absolutely starving while Solara was heaping up riches, so we determined to quit the band. We did so and came to Paris, where we have been ever since."

"I will not ask you what you have been doing in Paris," said Monte-Cristo, smiling faintly; "in fact, I need not ask you, for I know; the chief of the poste has told me; but will you promise me to lead a better life in future and to try to induce Beppo to do the same, if I should succeed in effecting your release?"

"I cannot promise you that," replied the Italian, with averted eyes, "but I will promise you to return to Rome and take Beppo with me."

"That will do as well, or almost as well," said the Count. "Armed with such a promise, I think I can obtain your freedom. But you must swear to me to leave France immediately after you have been set at liberty, and I shall consider your oath as binding upon Beppo also."

"I swear to leave France the very moment I am free! I swear, too, that Beppo shall accompany me!"

"It is well," said the Count. "I shall be here again this afternoon or to-morrow at the furthest; but remember that before you leave this cell you must give me the full details of the conspiracy against young Massetti!"

"I shall remember it, Signor Count; have no fear of that! When I have spoken old Solara must look out for himself!"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Monte-Cristo, sharply.

"Never mind at present, Signor Count! I will make everything clear to you on your return."

The Deputy from Marseilles quitted the cell and the poste, after having thanked the chief for his courtesy. He drove without delay to the office of the Procureur de la Republique in the Palais de Justice, and it was not long before he had matters satisfactorily arranged. The Procureur cheerfully agreed not to push the charge against the Italians on condition that Monte-Cristo pledged himself they should leave Paris immediately after the Juge d' Instruction had discharged them. This pledge the Count made without the slightest hesitation, and it was decided that the Juge d' Instruction should hold his formal examination at the poste that afternoon, when the Procureur would appear through his Deputy and order the cessation of the proceedings for full and sufficient reasons. The Procureur agreed to notify the Count of the exact hour of the examination that he might be present and ready to execute his share of the compact.

As Monte-Cristo drove back to the mansion of the Rue du Helder he could not help feeling considerably agitated. What was he about to learn from Peppino, and how would the Italian's disclosures affect Massetti? These were problems that the next few hours were destined to solve.



CHAPTER XVI.

AMID THE COLOSSEUM'S RUINS.

One of the first things Maximilian Morrel did, after he and his wife were comfortably installed at the Hotel de France in Rome, was to make a formal call at the Palazzo Massetti and present his letters of introduction to the aged Count, Giovanni's father.

The old nobleman, who was at least seventy and very patriarchal in appearance because of his flowing white locks and long snowy beard, received the young Frenchman with great urbanity and condescension in a sumptuously furnished salon full of rare art treasures and dazzling with gold and satin. He met him with outstretched hand and said, warmly, at the same time glancing at the Captain's card as if to refresh his memory:

"I am delighted to have the honor of welcoming so distinguished a visitor as Captain Maximilian Morrel to the Palazzo Massetti. Pray be seated, Captain, and consider my residence as yours."

The Count spoke French fluently, without even the faintest trace of a foreign accent, and this fact as well as his charmingly cordial manner caused the young soldier immediately to feel at ease in his presence.

"I assure you, Count," returned Maximilian, bowing and then seating himself, "that the pleasure is mutual."

The aged nobleman also took a chair, and for a time they conversed agreeably on various subjects. The Count had been a brave, active soldier in his day and was much interested in French military affairs. The visitor, who was thoroughly posted on this topic and devotedly attached to his profession, gave his inquisitive host every detail he demanded and was particularly enthusiastic when he spoke of the Parisian workmen, who, as he asserted, could leave their accustomed toil at a moment's notice and encounter the perils of the battlefield with the endurance of trained veterans.

At length Maximilian thought he could venture to feel the ground in regard to his mission. It was certainly a very delicate matter, but the Count's politeness and bonhomie encouraged him to proceed. Looking the old nobleman straight in the face he said:

"I believe, Count, you have a son named Giovanni, who was recently in Paris."

Instantly the aged Roman's brow clouded and he cast a scrutinizing glance at his guest. Then he said, coldly:

"I have no son!"

Maximilian in his turn gazed searchingly at the Count, but the latter's visage had already assumed a stony and defiant look that seemed to oppose an insurmountable barrier to further conversation on this subject. There was an awkward pause, during which the two men continued to gaze at each other. M. Morrel, though much embarrassed and disconcerted by the prompt check he had received, was the first to break the ominous silence.

"I ask your pardon, Count," said he, "but the young man of whom I spoke represented himself to be the Viscount Giovanni Massetti. Is it possible that he was an impostor?"

The Count's aspect became more frigid; he replied, icily:

"I repeat that I have no son!"

Maximilian was sorely puzzled. He knew not what to think or say. The old nobleman arose as if to terminate the interview. He showed no trace of excitement, but M. Morrel felt certain that he was a prey to an internal agitation that he with difficulty controlled. There could be no doubt that Giovanni was what he had represented himself to be, for had he not passed as the Viscount Massetti in Rome as well as in Paris? But one solution to the mystery offered itself—the Count had disowned his son, disowned him because of the terrible crime with which he was charged, from which he had been apparently unable to clear himself. M. Morrel also arose, but he was unwilling to depart thus, to be summarily dismissed as it were. He determined to make one more effort to get at the truth.

"Count," he said, "I do not wish you to misunderstand me, to impute to mere idle curiosity my desire to be informed concerning this unfortunate and unhappy young man. I know that a black cloud hangs over him, that at present he is branded and disgraced. I was not aware, however, that his family had cast him off."

"Monsieur," returned the Count, impatiently, "you are strangely persistent."

"I am persistent, Count," said Maximilian, earnestly, "because the Viscount Massetti is not alone in his misfortune. Another, an estimable young lady, is now languishing in Paris on his account."