"I pity her!" said the old nobleman, impressively.

"So do I," rejoined Maximilian; "from the bottom of my heart I pity them both and that is the reason I am here."

"May I ask the name of this estimable young lady?"

"Certainly. Her name is Zuleika; she is the daughter of the world-famous Count of Monte-Cristo."

Old Massetti gave a start and the muscles of his face twitched nervously, but he managed to control himself and said:

"Indeed! Permit me to inquire what relations the young man sustained towards the daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo."

"She is or rather was betrothed to him."

"My God! Another victim! Does the girl love him?"

"She does, with all her soul!"

"Did he betray her, did he lead her astray?"

"No; his conduct towards her was in all respects that of a man of the strictest honor."

"Heaven be praised for that! Then no damage has been done! Let her forget him!"

"I fear, I know, she cannot!"

"She is young, isn't she?"

"Very young."

"Then time will heal her wounds. She must forget him, for he is unworthy of her love!"

"But do you feel no affection, no pity, for your son?"

"I tell you I have no son! How many times must I repeat it!"

The Count's look was harder than ever; all the pride and haughtiness of the Massettis seemed concentrated in the expression of his venerable countenance. Maximilian opened his lips to speak again, but the old nobleman stopped him and said, sternly:

"We have had enough of this! Captain Morrel, let what has passed between us on this wretched subject be forgotten. I shall be glad to receive you at any hour as a friend, but, if you value my acquaintance, my friendship, never mention that young man to me again! Farewell, Monsieur!"

The Count touched a bell and a valet appeared. Maximilian bowed to his host and, guided by the servant, quitted the palazzo. In the street he stood for a moment like one utterly bewildered. It was plain that the elder Massetti had fully made up his mind as to Giovanni's guilt, and if the father deserted his son what hope was there that the cold, heartless world would not follow his example? Maximilian was in despair. At the very first step in his mission he had been unceremoniously and firmly halted. What was he to do? Should he acknowledge himself finally defeated because his initial attempt had failed so disastrously? No; that would be miserable cowardice! He would persist, he would make further investigations. He had undertaken this work for Zuleika, to restore happiness to her heart and light to her eyes, and he would not abandon the task, no matter how arduous it might be, until he had cleared Giovanni or obtained tangible, incontrovertible proof of his guilt!

Fortified by this resolution M. Morrel returned to the Hotel de France. Valentine met him with a look of anxious inquiry. He endeavoured to seem cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but the effort was a pitiful failure. He sank into a chair and said to his wife in a dejected tone:

"I have seen the Count Massetti. He believes his son guilty and has disowned him!"

Valentine seated herself beside her husband and tenderly took his hand.

"Maximilian," she said, "it is a bad beginning, I confess, but you know the proverb and, I trust, the good ending will yet come!"

"It will not be our fault if it does not," replied her husband, heroically. "At all events, we will do our best."

"And we shall succeed! I feel confident of that!"

"Thank you for those words, Valentine! You are a perfect enchantress and have brought my dead hope to life!"

That evening the Morrels' decided to visit the Colosseum. They desired to see the gigantic remains of that vast fabric of the Cassars by moonlight, to inspect amid the silvery rays the crumbling courts and galleries that ages agone had echoed with the proud tread of the elite of barbaric old Rome! Conducted by a guide belonging to the Hotel de France, they set out and were soon standing among the ruins of the great amphitheatre. There they were seized upon by a special cicerone, who seemed to consider the huge wreck of Flavius Vespasian's monument as his particular property and who could not be shaken off. He joined forces with the hotel guide and the twain, jabbering away industriously in an almost unintelligible jargon, led the helpless visitors from one point of interest to another, showing them in turn broken columns, the seats of the Vestals, dilapidated stone staircases, the "Fosse des Lions" and the "Podium des Cesars." Maximilian and Valentine were filled with unspeakable awe and admiration as they contemplated the remnants of ancient grandeur, and mentally peopled the wondrous Colosseum with contending gladiators, stately Patricians and the applauding herd of sanguinary Plebeians, Mme. Morrel shuddering as she thought of the thousands of high-bred dames and beautiful maidens who in the old days had pitilessly turned down their thumbs as a signal for the taking of human life! Although the moon was brilliant and flooded the antique amphitheatre with argentine light, the guides carried torches, which served to spread a flickering and wan illumination through the dark recesses of the cavernous vomitariums, now the refuge of bats, owls, goats and serpents.

As they were passing through a long and unusually sombre gallery, the guides suddenly paused with a simultaneous cry and began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian and Valentine halted in affright, the former hurriedly drawing a small pistol to defend his wife and himself against the unknown and mysterious danger. They glanced about them but could see nothing, the torches revealing only huge stones and dust-covered vaults. M. Morrel demanded of the guides what was the cause of their terror, but for some moments could glean no intelligence from their vague, unintelligible replies. At last one of the cicerones managed to explain that they had seen the maniac! This was comforting information to the visitors! A maniac at large and ranging at night about amid the Colosseum's ruins! Valentine, trembling with fear, clung to her husband for protection.

"Is it a man or a woman?" asked Maximilian of one of the guides.

"A man, signor."

"Is he violent, dangerous?"

"No, signor, neither; but his appearance gives one a terrible shock, he is so wild-looking, and, besides, he mutters fearful curses! Holy Virgin, protect us!"

Maximilian felt his curiosity aroused; a strange desire took possession of him to see and speak with this singular madman, who frequented the gladiators' courts and muttered fearful curses to the broken columns of the Colosseum.

"Where is the maniac now?" he demanded of the guides. "Do you see him?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied one of the men, glancing about him uneasily.

"But where is he? Can you take us to him?" persisted Maximilian.

The cicerones looked at each other in amazement; the young soldier's questions startled them. Valentine was not less amazed and startled than the guides; she stared at her husband, speechless at the strange interest he displayed in this miserable outcast.

"Can you take us to him?" repeated Maximilian.

"Signor," said the guide belonging to the hotel, "you are jesting!"

"I am not jesting, I am in earnest," said M. Morrel. "Answer my question."

"Of course, we can take you to him, signor," answered the guide; "but you had best avoid him; the sight of the wretched Massetti will drive your lady out of her wits!"

At the name Massetti both Maximilian and Valentine started; they glanced at each other and at the man who had spoken, thinking that they had not heard aright.

"Massetti!" cried M. Morrel, when his astonishment permitted him to find words. "Did you say Massetti?"

"Yes, signor, I said Massetti. The maniac is old Count Massetti's disowned and disinherited son!"

"What! The Viscount Giovanni?"

"The same, signor!"

"Oh! this is dreadful, dreadful, Maximilian!" whispered Valentine, clinging still closer to her husband.

"It is, indeed, dreadful; doubly so because entirely unexpected," said M. Morrel. "But I must see young Massetti—it was, no doubt, some mysterious influence, some indescribable magnetic power, operating between us, that made me wish to see this man, this maniac, as soon as he was mentioned!—I must see him and at once!"

As the guides possessed but a very slight knowledge of the French language, in which the dialogue between the husband and wife had been carried on, they failed to grasp the full import of the brief conversation; they, however, understood that their patrons were in some inexplicable way interested in the maniac of the Colosseum and appalled by the sudden discovery of his identity. The situation puzzled and dissatisfied them.

After thinking for an instant, Maximilian said to his wife:

"I will instruct the guide from the hotel to conduct you back to our apartments. It is best that I should meet poor Massetti alone; seeing the wretched man in his present terrible condition would certainly shock and unnerve you."

Valentine gazed pleadingly into her husband's face. All her fear had left her. She was calm now and resolved. She had proposed the trip to Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and Zuleika. She said, bravely:

"Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."

Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.

"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with me and we will face the trial together!"

His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.

M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent bewilderment.

"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.

The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed Virgin.

The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast gladiatorial arena.

"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the Colosseum!"

Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction indicated but saw nothing.

"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.

Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone. The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was lifted menacingly.

"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"

M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its scope.

The guides fell upon their knees, uncovered their heads and prayed to the Virgin in low tones.

Maximilian took Valentine by the hand.

"Come," said he, "let us go to him!"

Mme. Morrel trembled slightly, but answered, firmly:

"I am ready!"

Then, hand in hand, slowly, cautiously, not knowing what might happen, they advanced towards the maniac of the Colosseum.



CHAPTER XVII.

PEPPINO'S STORY.

At the appointed hour, of which he had been duly notified by the Procureur de la Republique, the Count of Monte-Cristo entered the room set apart for the use of the Juge d' Instruction at the police poste where Peppino and Beppo were confined. The magistrate was already on the judicial bench and by his side stood the Deputy Procureur, who was explaining to him the wishes of his superior. As Monte-Cristo came in he bowed to the Juge and the Deputy, who returned his salute with all the respect due to so exalted a personage.

"Messieurs," said the Count, after this exchange of civilities, "you are, of course, aware of the reason of my presence here this afternoon, so we can proceed to business at once, but before the Italians are brought in I have a slight favor to ask."

"Name it, M. the Count," said the Juge d' Instruction, blandly. "We shall be happy to grant it if it lies within our power to do so."

"Well, messieurs," said the Count of Monte-Cristo, stepping upon the platform and leaning on the Juge's desk, "it is simply this. The prisoner calling himself Peppino is in possession of certain details to which I attach considerable importance. He has promised to reveal them to me as the price of his liberty and that of his companion. It is needless to say that the sole motive of my interference in this matter is to obtain these details. Now, from long experience I know all the trickery and treachery of the Italian nature. Once free, this man might snap his fingers in my face and refuse to speak. After the formalities of the law have been duly complied with, I wish the prisoners remanded to their cells and informed that their liberation will take place only when Peppino has given me the promised intelligence."

"That will be but a trifling stretch of my authority," replied the Juge d' Instruction, smiling, "if it is any stretch whatever, for, as I understand the case, the prisoners are to remain virtually in your custody until their departure from France, for which you have pledged your word to the Procureur de la Republique. Hence the favor you ask shall be cheerfully granted."

As he concluded the Juge d' Instruction glanced at the Deputy Procureur, who nodded assent.

The magistrate touched a bell that stood on his desk and said to the gardien de la paix who answered the summons:

"Bring in the prisoners."

Monte-Cristo and the Deputy retired from the platform, seating themselves in a couple of fauteuils placed at a table immediately in front of the Juge's desk.

As the two Italians were brought in Peppino glanced first at the magistrate on the bench and then at the Deputy. Finally his eyes rested on the Count, when his countenance instantly lighted up; he instinctively felt that Monte-Cristo's mysterious influence had been fully as potent with the authorities of Paris as with Luigi Vampa and his band, that the wonderful man had succeeded in effecting the liberation of himself and Beppo.

"Place the prisoners at the bar," said the Juge d' Instruction, addressing the gardien.

This order was instantly complied with and the two Italians stood facing the magistrate.

"Remove your hats."

The prisoners obeyed, Peppino with a confident smile, Beppo with a sullen scowl.

"Prisoners at the bar," said the Juge d' Instruction severely, "you are charged with the offense of picking pockets upon the public street. What have you to say?"

This formal and rather menacing beginning was both a surprise and a disappointment to Peppino. He glanced inquiringly at Monte-Cristo, but could read nothing in his pale, handsome face; then with a dark frown he made answer to the Juge, in a harsh, defiant tone:

"I am not guilty!"

The magistrate glanced at Beppo who in his turn repeated his comrade's words.

Here the Deputy Procureur arose and said to the Juge d' Instruction, in a full, clear voice:

"May it please you, honored Juge, as the representative of the Procureur de la Republique I desire to state that it is not my intention to push the charge against the prisoners at the bar. For this course I have a good and sufficient reason. I, therefore, in my official capacity demand that the persons calling themselves Peppino and Beppo be discharged."

This demand was another surprise to Peppino, but he instantly divined that Monte-Cristo counted for a great deal in it and gazed at him with a look of gratitude. Beppo was absolutely astounded, for he could not understand the sudden, favorable turn in the situation.

The Juge d' Instruction, in pursuance of the form prescribed by law, said to the Deputy:

"May I ask the worthy representative of the Procureur de la Republique what are his good and sufficient reasons?"

"Certainly, honored Juge," replied the functionary. "His Excellency the Count of Monte-Cristo, here present, has entered into a compact with the Procureur, pledging himself in the event of the prisoners' discharge to induce them to quit France immediately."

At this Monte-Cristo arose and facing the judicial bench said, in that impressive manner which always marked his public speeches:

"Honored Juge, what the Deputy Procureur has just said is perfectly true in every respect. In the event of the prisoners' discharge I stand pledged to his superior in office to see that they return to Italy without delay."

The Deputy and the Count resumed their seats. The Juge d' Instruction appeared to think for a moment; then he said:

"My duty in the premises is plain. No evidence is presented against the prisoners and the official statement and demand of the Procureur de la Republique, expressed through his worthy and esteemed representative, preclude the necessity of a formal interrogation of the accused. I shall, therefore, discharge them, subject, however, to the control of his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo. Prisoners at the bar," he added, addressing Peppino and Beppo, "I remand you to your cells, your liberation to take place at such time as his Excellency, the Count of Monte-Cristo may determine."

He resumed his seat upon the judicial bench, motioning to the gardien to remove the prisoners.

Ten minutes later Monte-Cristo was in Peppino's cell. The Italian was radiant with delight and very effusive in the expression of his thanks to his powerful and mysterious benefactor.

The Count waved his hand impatiently.

"A truce to thanks," he said. "Time presses, and the sooner you give me the details of the conspiracy against the Viscount Massetti the sooner you and your companion will be free."

Peppino threw himself half down upon his bed and Monte-Cristo seated himself on a rickety stool, his usually impassible countenance plainly showing the absorbing interest he felt in what was to follow.

The Italian cleared his throat and began.

"Signor Count," said he, "in the first place I must tell you that young Massetti has been disowned and disinherited by his proud, stern father, who believes him one of the guiltiest and most depraved scoundrels on earth!"

Monte-Cristo gave a start; his face grew a shade paler than was habitual with him, but he said nothing; he was eagerly awaiting further developments.

"That is not all, however," continued Peppino, after a slight pause to note the effect of his communication upon his auditor, "nor is it the worst! The unfortunate Viscount, upon being ignominiously expelled from the Palazzo Massetti by the old Count's orders, immediately lost his senses; he is now a raving maniac!"

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, springing to his feet and pacing the cell, a prey to intense agitation he did not endeavour to control. "A raving maniac!—Giovanni a raving maniac! Oh! my daughter, my daughter!"

"All I say is the truth," resumed the Italian. "As I hope for Heaven I swear it!"

"But what has become of Massetti? Where is he?" demanded the Count, abruptly pausing in his walk. "Has he been consigned to some asylum?"

"He is an outcast and a wanderer," replied Peppino. "All Rome frowns upon him, avoids him as a pestilence is avoided. When I left Italy he had sought refuge amid the ruins of the Colosseum, where he was the terror alike of visitors and the superstitious guides. I saw him there with my own eyes the day before my departure. He was in rags, carried a tall staff, wore a crown of ivy leaves and spent his time cursing God and man. They say he never leaves the ruins, save to beg a few scraps upon which to subsist, and that he sleeps at night in the depths of a dark vomitarium in company with bats, spiders and other unclean things."

"This is incredible!" cried Monte-Cristo, gazing piercingly at his companion and half suspecting that he was drawing upon his vivid Italian imagination for some of his graphic details.

"But it is true, Signor Count," protested Peppino, earnestly; "every word of it is true!"

"Go on," said Monte-Cristo, hoarsely, again seating himself on the stool. "Tell me about the conspiracy."

"I am coming to it, Signor Count," said the former bandit, assuming a sitting posture upon the edge of the bed. "You know, of course, that the cause of all the Viscount Massetti's trouble was a certain handsome young peasant girl named Annunziata Solara?"

"I have heard it was some woman, but that does not matter; proceed."

"This girl sold flowers in the Piazza del Popolo and on the Corso; there she attracted the attention of Massetti and your son Esperance."

"Esperance!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, his hands working nervously. "Oh! mon Dieu! the light is commencing to break!"

Peppino smiled reassuringly.

"Have no fear, Signor Count," said he; "in all the unhappy occurrences that brought the poor Viscount under suspicion your son bore a part as noble as it was honorable; you have abundant reason to be proud of him!"

Monte-Cristo uttered a sigh of relief.

"Can you prove this?"

"I can. Luigi Vampa and his whole band know your son to be entirely innocent so far as the flower-girl is concerned and will so express themselves. Even old Solara himself, hardened and despicable wretch as he is, will not seek to inculpate him. Rest assured that the proof of your son's innocence is ample."

"Luigi Vampa has already written to me that no guilt attaches to Esperance, but I must have more reliable vouchers than the letter or even the oath of a notorious brigand."

"Such vouchers can be procured without much difficulty. The unfortunate girl herself, who is now in the Refuge at Civita Vecchia, will exculpate him."

"But the details of the plot, the details of the plot!"

"Well, the Viscount learned from Annunziata that she dwelt in the country beyond the Trastavere and that evening set out to find her. Your son, who knew his object, followed him to protect him against the bandits. Massetti was halted by one of Vampa's men, who wounded him in the struggle that ensued, your son appearing in time to kill the brigand and rescue his friend. Shortly afterwards they encountered a large number of Vampa's band and narrowly escaped being hung to the nearest trees in revenge for the death of the man slain by your son. They were set free by Vampa himself as soon as he learned that Esperance was your son, Massetti having disclosed both his own identity and that of his comrade. The young men, it seems, had determined to return to Rome immediately after the Viscount received his wound, but Massetti grew faint from pain and loss of blood and it was resolved to seek for shelter. A peasant appeared at this juncture and, after some hesitation, agreed to conduct them to his father's cabin where they could pass the night. He was as good as his word. To be brief, the young men, who were disguised as peasants, soon found themselves in Pasquale Solara's hut and in the presence of the fair Annunziata herself."

Peppino paused for an instant and then continued:

"These preliminary details, Signor Count, are necessary to enable you to understand the conspiracy which was speedily to be hatched. The peasant, who had conducted Massetti and your son to the very spot the former had left Rome to seek, was Annunziata's brother. Old Pasquale Solara was absent from home at the time of the arrival of the strangers, but returned shortly afterwards. I have no doubt that he had long been in league with Luigi Vampa and had been secretly acting as his agent and confederate. At any rate, when he arrived he was well aware that the young men were at his cabin and was also thoroughly informed as to their identity, though, with his habitual cunning, he concealed both facts, feigning surprise and dissatisfaction when it was announced to him by his children that he had guests. Secretly he was delighted, for the presence of young Massetti gave him an opportunity at once to take a signal revenge on the old Count, whom he had long bitterly hated, and to divert the crashing stigma of a fiendish act he meditated from himself to the name and fame of another."

"Do you mean to assert that this wretched old man had base designs against his own daughter?" said the Count, his visage expressing all the horror he felt.

"Exactly," answered Peppino, coolly. "Old Solara, miserable miser as he is, had for a very large sum of the gold he so ardently coveted sold his own child, his beautiful daughter Annunziata, to the bandit chief Luigi Vampa!"

"The black-hearted demon!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo. "He is unworthy of the name of man! In Paris the indignant populace would crush him to death beneath their feet!"

"So, you see," resumed the Italian, "the arrival of Massetti was opportune, and Pasquale Solara, after having seen that the Viscount was safely housed beneath the roof of his cabin, hastened back to Luigi Vampa and together they laid the foul plot that succeeded but too well. A more shrewdly devised and thoroughly concealed piece of diabolical villainy has never stained the annals of the civilized world!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

MORE OF PEPPINO'S STORY.

Monte-Cristo was horrified by what he had heard. His whole soul revolted at the idea of a father who could deliberately and in cold blood sell his daughter, at the idea of a wretch who with equal deliberation could cast the blame of a villainy committed by himself upon an innocent man. It had seemed very strange to the Count, at the time Luigi Vampa had written to him, that the brigand chief should be so thoroughly posted in regard to the innocence of Esperance and the guilt of the Viscount Massetti, but in the light of the astounding revelations just made by Peppino it became abundantly clear that Vampa in the young Italian's case had been actuated by the strongest possible motive, namely, the desire to shield himself, and that in order to do so effectually he had not shrunk from the vilest and most complete falsehood. Of course, Vampa had not wished to inculpate Esperance because of the old-time compact, the relations that had subsisted between him and Monte-Cristo in the past; that was equally plain; besides one victim was sufficient, and in selecting Massetti as that victim the brigand chief had evidently acted at the instigation of old Pasquale Solara.

Peppino proceeded with his disclosures.

"Signor Count," said he, "I had long suspected that something was on the carpet between Vampa and old Solara. The moody and morose shepherd did not at first come to the bandits' haunt, but in response to a signal he used, a peculiar vibrating whistle, the chief would go out alone and meet him. This signal and Vampa's actions aroused my curiosity; more than once I followed the chief and, securely hidden behind a tree or a rock, witnessed the secret meetings, overhearing portions of the conversation. Annunziata Solara was frequently mentioned, and the father seemed to be endeavouring to drive a hard bargain with Vampa. At last one night they came to an understanding. I heard the chief agree to pay old Pasquale an enormous sum of money upon the delivery of Annunziata into his hands, and then I realized that the nefarious sale had been concluded. It was decided that the ill-fated girl should be passed over to Vampa at the first opportunity, and that opportunity came when the Viscount Massetti and your son Esperance were domiciled at the isolated cabin in the forest.

"I was on the alert and when, after assuring himself of the arrival of the two young men at his hut, old Pasquale sought the bandits' rendezvous and sounded his vibrating signal, I heard it. Stealthily following Vampa, I concealed myself as I had done on previous occasions. I was now thoroughly familiar with the details of the base transaction in progress between the precious pair and could readily comprehend even their most obscure and guarded allusions. Old Solara informed the chief that the young men had arrived, proposing that Vampa should abduct Annunziata at the earliest possible moment, so arranging matters that suspicion would fall upon the Viscount Massetti. This the chief agreed to do. The shepherd was to keep him posted, and the abduction was to take place when circumstances were best calculated to promote the success of all the phases of the villainous plot. With this understanding the conspirators separated.

"Fate sided with old Pasquale and Vampa. His wound kept the Viscount at the cabin and the fair Annunziata nursed him. He had become smitten with her beauty the day he met her in the Piazza del Popolo. Intimate association with her intensified her influence over him, and when he had been in the cabin nearly a week and convalescence had begun he made violent love to her, even going so far as to ask her to fly with him. Esperance divined his friend's intentions and, knowing that Massetti could not marry the girl, interposed to save her. The result was a quarrel and your son challenged the Viscount to fight him. The challenge was instantly accepted and it was arranged that the duel should occur on the following morning.

"Faithful to his promise to Vampa, old Solara, while pretending to be absent from home, lurked in the vicinity and kept track of all that was going on. He was hidden beneath the open window when Massetti or Tonio, as he called himself, for both the Viscount and Esperance were passing under assumed names, proposed flight to his daughter. Instantly he hastened to the brigand chief, who had been prowling in the neighborhood of the hut all day, and gleefully communicated to him what he had heard. It was immediately decided that the time for the abduction had come and preparations were made to carry off Annunziata that very night. Vampa wrote a criminating letter to the girl purporting to come from Massetti, and old Solara, stealing unobserved into the hut, placed it beneath his daughter's work-box on her table where she afterwards found it. It was not for a moment supposed that the girl would consent to fly with the Viscount, for though gay and light-hearted she was pure and innocent; the note was simply intended to fill Annunziata's mind, after the abduction, with the idea that Massetti was her abductor."

"What shrewd, far-seeing villainy!" muttered Monte-Cristo, between his teeth.

"That night there was no moon," continued Peppino, "and, after all the inmates of the cabin had retired to rest, old Pasquale waited outside with a torch while Vampa made his way to Annunziata's chamber, tore her from her couch and carried her to the forest, preventing her from giving the alarm by placing his hand over her mouth. He was masked and the shepherd kept at such a distance that it was utterly impossible for his daughter to recognize him. As Vampa ran through the forest with his burden, he struck his arm against a tree and the pain caused him to take his hand for a second from Annunziata's mouth. The poor girl profited by this opportunity to scream and her cry brought first her brother, then the Viscount and then Esperance to her aid.

"The brother on reaching Vampa attacked him fiercely. Dropping the girl, who stood rooted to the spot, the chief drew a pistol and fired at his assailant. The latter was hit and staggered back, the blood gushing from his wound. Somehow during the struggle Vampa became unmasked and, in the prevailing obscurity, Annunziata naturally imagined that the face suddenly uncovered and as quickly masked again was that of her suitor, the so-called Tonio. Having disposed of the brother, who afterwards ran back towards the cabin, met Esperance, rushed into his arms and then fell to the ground where he died, the brigand chief seized Annunziata, who meanwhile had swooned, and resumed his flight through the forest. Hearing the sound of further pursuit, Vampa paused in dismay and listened. Three persons seemed to be rapidly approaching. The chief thereupon concealed the unconscious girl behind a huge fragment of rock and threw himself flat upon the ground, hoping thus to escape observation. As he did so he saw the glare of old Solara's torch. It flashed full in the face of a peasant, a perfect stranger, who had heard Annunziata's cry and come to the rescue. The shepherd had a knife in one hand; he instantly cast away his torch and closed in desperate conflict with the new comer. At that moment the Viscount came upon the scene, moving as if to take the part of the stranger. Vampa leaped up, grasped him by the throat and, under the threat of instant death if he refused, forced him to take an oath of silence in regard to the events of the night. Massetti was so bewildered that he scarcely knew what he was doing. No sooner had he taken the oath than Vampa treacherously dealt him a crushing blow that sent him reeling to the ground, where he lay motionless and unconscious. Then the chief again threw himself upon the soil, springing up once more to face Esperance. The latter aimed a pistol at him, but he whirled it from his hand. Then the young man struck fiercely at him, but Vampa dodged the blow and his adversary fell forward from his own impetus on a thick growth of moss beside Massetti's prostrate form. Taking prompt advantage of his opportunity, the chief secured possession of the yet unconscious Annunziata and this time succeeded in bearing her in triumph to a hut he had provided for her reception."

Peppino then proceeded to relate what the reader has already learned from Annunziata's pitiful recital to Mme. de Rancogne in the Refuge at Civita Vecchia. When he had concluded, he glanced at his auditor and said:

"Are you satisfied, Signor Count?"

"I am," answered Monte-Cristo, in a hoarse voice that sounded strangely unlike his own. "You have fully earned the freedom of yourself and your comrade Beppo. The tale of black iniquity you have so vividly told me might seem improbable in other ears but to me it bears the impress of truth. One point, however, is obscure. I cannot imagine in what manner you learned the particulars of certain events in your narrative, events which you could not have witnessed with your own eyes. Enlighten me on this point."

"Willingly," answered Peppino, without the slightest hesitation. "I learned the details you speak of partly from Vampa himself and partly from old Solara. The twain compared notes after the latter had openly joined the bandits, and I took good care to overhear their conversation."

Monte-Cristo had arisen and now paced the cell for several moments plunged in deep thought. His brow was cloudy and dark, but his eyes sparkled fiercely and his hands were clenched so tightly that his nails left red marks in his flesh. The Italian still sitting on the edge of his bed watched him narrowly, not knowing what to make of his preoccupation and agitated by a vague fear lest he might refuse to fulfil his promise. At length Monte-Cristo appeared to have solved the knotty problem that had perplexed him and to have arrived at a decision. He came in front of the Italian, halted and, gazing steadfastly at him, said:

"My good fellow, I have, as you know, obtained freedom for yourself and Beppo by pledging my word to the Procureur de la Republique that both of you shall at once quit the country. On your side you have done as you agreed and I am now about to execute my part of the bargain."

Peppino's countenance assumed an expression of the utmost delight. All his apprehensions instantly vanished.

"Now," continued Monte-Cristo, impressively, "I have a proposition to make to you. You can be exceedingly useful to me if you will and at the same time acquire a large sum of money honestly and honorably."

The Italian's eyes glittered with pleasure.

"Name your proposition, Signor Count," he said, enthusiastically. "I accept it in advance. But is Beppo included in it?"

"He is," answered the Count. "The revelations you have made to me have decided me to go to Rome at once. I shall take my daughter with me, as well as my Nubian servant Ali. I desire you and Beppo to enter my service and accompany me. Humanity demands that I use all my influence to right the unfortunate Viscount Massetti, and I wish you to aid me in the work."

"I will do as you desire, Signor Count," said the Italian, "and I will promise that Beppo shall also comply with your wishes."

"Very well," rejoined Monte-Cristo. "It is understood and agreed upon. One condition, however, I must exact. You and Beppo must hold no communication with Luigi Vampa or any of his band, at least not until I so direct."

"The condition shall be scrupulously observed, Signor Count. While in your service your commands shall be our only law."

"It is sufficient. Now I am going to set you and Beppo at liberty. You will at once accompany me to my residence and there the preparations for our departure will immediately be made. We shall start for Rome to-morrow."

"As your Excellency pleases," said the Italian.

Monte-Cristo summoned the gardien on duty at the poste, directing him to produce Beppo, and soon the Count and the Italians were seated in the former's barouche and being rapidly driven by Ali towards the mansion on the Rue du Helder.

No sooner had they arrived at their destination than the Count, giving the new additions to his retinue into the charge of the faithful Nubian, repaired to his study, summoning Zuleika to him. The girl hastened to obey the summons, and the sight of her father's pale, stern countenance instantly told her that something very unusual and important had taken place.

"My child," said the Count, taking her tenderly in his arms and gazing fondly into her upturned, anxious face, "I have to-day received some very startling intelligence."

Zuleika's heart beat wildly at this announcement; she felt convinced that the very startling intelligence concerned her unfortunate, long-silent lover.

"Father," said she, in a tremulous voice, "have you received word from the Viscount Massetti?"

"No, my child," answered Monte-Cristo; "but tidings of the gravest nature relating to him have been imparted to me."

"Tidings of the gravest nature, father! Is it possible that he is dead?"

As she uttered the last words, the poor girl burst into a flood of tears.

"No, my child," replied the Count. "Young Massetti is not dead."

"Has he succeeded in clearing himself of that terrible charge?" the girl asked, trembling with anxiety.

"Alas! no! But he is innocent, Zuleika, as innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him as the babe unborn! Of that you can rest assured, for the proof of his innocence is in my hands!"

Zuleika gave a wild cry of joy and flung her arms about her father's neck.

"Calm yourself, my child," resumed Monte-Cristo; "all will yet be well. I start for Rome to-morrow with Ali and two of Giovanni's friends. Be ready to accompany me!"

Zuleika's ecstasy was almost beyond bounds; but alas! she did not know that Giovanni's mind had been overthrown by the shame and disgrace that had been heaped upon him!



CHAPTER XIX.

THE MANIAC OF THE COLOSSEUM.

After quitting their guides at the Colosseum Maximilian and Valentine advanced towards the centre of the gladiatorial arena where the demented Giovanni Massetti was standing. He did not notice them, did not seem to pay even the slightest attention to his surroundings, but kept his eyes upturned towards heaven, the murmur of bitter malediction constantly issuing from his lips. As M. and Mme. Morrel approached his words became clearer and clearer and they had no difficulty whatever in fully understanding their terrible import. No wonder the guides were frightened by such a flow of bitter scathing curses!

The afflicted Viscount maintained his motionless, statue-like attitude, resembling more the weird creation of some sculptor's vivid fancy than a living, breathing mortal. Valentine was filled with indescribable sorrow as she gazed at him and realized that this wreck of noble, glorious manhood was the beloved of Zuleika's heart, the being with whose unhappy destiny that of Monte-Cristo's daughter was inextricably entwined. Oh! that by some miracle, such as the fabled divinities of old Olympus were said to have performed, he might be restored to reason and the possession of an unblemished name! But the days of miracles were over, and if the young Italian was to be brought back to sanity and cleared from the fearful charge against him that had wrought all this harm, this misery, it must be by earthly and ordinary means. Perhaps she and her husband were destined to work these apparently impossible changes! Who knew? Many things equally improbable had happened, and why should not this wondrous transformation, a transformation worthy of the wand of some potent Prospero, be effected? Valentine was a devoted friend and an enthusiast, and Monte-Cristo's maxim, "Wait and Hope," was her guiding star. "Wait and Hope!" Oh! how cheering, how reassuring was that simple, trustful motto!

Maximilian, on his side, felt unutterable pity for both the wretched man before him and the lovely Zuleika, the sweet and tender child of his benefactor, languishing and despairing far away in her father's luxurious, palatial home. The poor girl was surrounded by all the blessings that unbounded wealth could confer; she had the Count's love, Mercedes' love, Esperance's love and the sincere affection of all who knew her; but alas! princely riches, parental, brotherly love and the affection of friends were as nothing compared to the passion that was gnawing at her vitals, a desperate, hopeless passion that was but a heavy weight of woe! But was this passion altogether desperate and hopeless? Time alone could show!

M. and Mme. Morrel were now within a few feet of the hapless, crazed young man, but his attention was so engrossed by the mad thoughts surging through his bewildered brain that he yet failed to detect their presence.

Bidding Valentine remain where she was, her husband drew close beside Giovanni and suddenly placed his hand on his shoulder. The Viscount started at this unexpected interruption of his sombre reverie and hastily glanced at the intruder. His eyes, however, had a stony, uncomprehending stare, expressing neither surprise nor fear.

"Giovanni Massetti," said Maximilian, "listen to me! I am a friend!"

The young man replied, in a low, discordant voice:

"Who is it mentions Giovanni Massetti? There was once a man who bore that name, but he is dead, dead to the world!"

"I have told you I am a friend," resumed M. Morrel. "I have come to save you!"

"A friend!—a friend!" cried the maniac, with a burst of bitter, mocking laughter that pierced Maximilian through and through like a sharp-pointed, keen-edged stiletto and made Valentine shudder as if she had come in contact with polar ice. "A friend!—a friend! Come to save me—me! ha! ha! ha! A labor of Hercules with no Hercules to accomplish it! You are mad, my poor fellow! Besides, I am not Giovanni Massetti—I am a King, an Emperor! Behold my sceptre and my crown!"

He pointed to his tall staff and the wreath of ivy leaves encircling his head, pointed triumphantly and with all the dignity of a throned monarch.

It was a pitiful sight, in the highest degree pitiful, this spectacle of intellect overthrown, of the glorious mental light of youthful manhood which had became clouded and obscured.

Maximilian was deeply affected, but, knowing full well that all his firmness, resolution and resources would be requisite in dealing with the wretched man he had come so far to aid, he controlled his emotion and said, in a comparatively steady voice:

"Giovanni Massetti, in the name of the woman you love, in the name of Zuleika, Monte-Cristo's daughter, I conjure you to be calm and hear me. I am her ambassador, I come to you from her!"

The young man put his hand to his forehead and seemed to be striving to collect his scattered senses.

"Zuleika?—Zuleika?" he murmured. "Monte-Cristo's daughter? Yes, yes, I have heard of her before—a long time back in the dreary past! I read of her in some book of history or the verses of some oriental poet. She was a Queen!—yes, she was a Queen! Well, what of this Zuleika?"

He stood as if waiting for some Arabian romance to be unfolded to him, with parted lips and a vacant smile sorrowful to see.

Since his interview with the old Count Massetti Maximilian's hope for the success of his difficult mission had been but a very slender thread. Now that thread was stretched to its utmost tension, and Zuleika's ambassador felt that it must shortly snap asunder and vanish irrecoverably. Love is ever a potent influence with man but this poor demented creature appeared to have lost even the faintest conception of the crowning passion of life, since Zuleika's name, the name of his betrothed, had failed to awaken his memory or touch a sympathetic chord in his bosom.

As Maximilian stood uncertain what to do next, but as yet reluctant to abandon the miserable Viscount to his fate, Valentine came to him and, placing her hand on his arm, said:

"My husband, it is useless to endeavor to move this unfortunate man in his present condition; his mind is incapable of rational action. Only by care and soothing influence can he be restored to himself. He must be induced to accompany us to some asylum, some institution where he can be treated for his dreadful malady."

"You are right, Valentine, as you always are," answered M. Morrel. "The course you suggest is the only one to be taken at this juncture. But how is Giovanni to be induced to accompany us? Force cannot be employed—we have no legal right to use it—and I greatly fear that the Viscount will not follow us of his own accord, no matter to what solicitations we may resort."

"Trust that to me, Maximilian," rejoined Valentine, sweetly and persuasively. "Remember what I said about a woman's wit and tenderness."

"I remember it, and now, if ever, is the time for the trial of their power, for I have utterly failed. But, surely, Valentine, you do not propose to risk dealing with this poor man whose mind is reduced to chaos and who might, in a sudden access of unaccountable fury, do you harm even before I could interfere?"

"I certainly do propose dealing with him! I am an enchantress, you know, and now you shall witness a further and more convincing proof of the potency of my spells than was shown in bringing your dead hope to life!"

Maximilian was not altogether satisfied with his wife's heroic resolution, but she firmly persisted in it and finally he allowed her to have her way. She quitted his side and approached Giovanni, her fine countenance wearing a bewitching smile as seductive as that of a Scandinavian valkyria ministering at the feast of heroes in the fabled Valhalla.

The guides, who amid their petitions to the Blessed Virgin had steadily watched the singular proceedings of their patrons, were both astounded and horrified when they saw Valentine leave her husband and boldly walk towards the maniac. They redoubled the fervency of their prayers and breathlessly waited for what was about to happen.

The Viscount had not yet observed Valentine. When she came in front of him and paused, still smiling, he saw her for the first time. Dropping his staff, he clasped his hands and gazed at her in an ecstasy of admiration.

"What beautiful, what heavenly vision is this?" he exclaimed, ardently, his voice assuming more of the characteristics of humanity than it had yet displayed.

Valentine was silent; she wished to get Massetti completely under her influence before speaking to him. Motionless and statuesquely she stood, allowing the maniac to gaze his fill at her.

"Who are you, divine vision?" continued the Viscount, seeming to think himself the prey of some passing dream. "Oh! you are a spirit!—a goddess such as of old presided over the sports of the Colosseum!—perhaps Juno herself! Do not vanish from my sight, do not become a filmy cloud and dissolve in ether! Oh! speak to me, glorious apparition! Let me hear the celestial melody of your voice and die listening to its marvellous cadences!"

Valentine, humoring the caprice of the demented man, said, in the most enticing tone she could assume:

"You have guessed aright, oh! mortal! I am, indeed, Juno, the Queen of the goddesses of Mount Olympus! By the direct command of Jupiter I have sought you out this night!"

She came closer to him and took his hand. He raised hers to his lips and devotedly kissed it. Then he gazed into her eyes like one entranced. Woman's wit and tenderness had triumphed. The maniac whom even the mention of Zuleika's name had failed to touch was completely under Mme. Morrel's influence. She had subdued him; she could do with him as she wished.

"A miracle! a miracle!" cried both the cicerones simultaneously. "The Blessed Virgin be praised!"

Maximilian was not less astonished than the guides, but with his astonishment joy and gratitude were mingled—joy that Giovanni was now tractable and gratitude to his noble and fearless wife who had effected the wondrous transformation. He said to himself that Valentine was, indeed, an enchantress, but a modern Circe, who, unlike her ancient prototype, employed her spells and fascinations to promote good, results. He glanced at Valentine, with a smile of encouragement and approbation, eagerly waiting for the next step she should take, for the next audacious effort she should essay.

Giovanni made no reply to Valentine's fantastic speech, and, after preserving silence for an instant, she resumed:

"I am here for your welfare, to aid you in your overwhelming misfortunes!"

"Ah! yes; I have misfortunes, but I had forgotten them," said the young man, musingly.

"I am sent to relieve you of them," continued Valentine. Then, throwing into her voice its most persuasive quality, she added, fixing a magnetic gaze upon the Viscount: "My mission is to take charge of you, to see that you are restored to health and happiness. Come with me!"

"I will follow you, sweet vision, to the very end of the earth!" said Giovanni, enthusiastically.

Valentine hastily beckoned to her husband; he hurried to her and she whispered in his ear:

"Send one of the guides for a coupe. We must not lose a single moment. Poor Massetti will follow me as a dog follows its master! While he is under my influence it is imperative that he be removed to an asylum where he can be properly looked after and if possible cured. No doubt the guides can tell you of such an institution. Use the utmost dispatch, Maximilian!"

The young soldier needed no repetition of these wise and humanitarian injunctions. He gave the requisite directions and soon the desired vehicle was in readiness without the Colosseum. Maximilian had also ascertained the address of a proper curative institution.

Meanwhile Valentine had continued to employ her successful tactics with the Viscount, who every moment yielded to her more and more. When the coupe was announced, she said to him:

"My chariot is waiting to convey you to my Olympian abode. Will you come with me?"

"Your wishes are my laws, oh! beautiful goddess!" replied Giovanni. "Take me where you will, so that you do not desert me and leave me to perish in despair!"

Mme. Morrel led the unresisting young man to the coupe, Maximilian and the guides following the pair at a short distance in order to guard against any unforeseen freak on the part of poor Massetti. There was no occasion for their services, however, and the Viscount was soon safely installed in the coupe with Valentine upon one side of him and her husband upon the other.

After a brief drive, during which Giovanni, who seemed to have lost all comprehension of the presence of any one save Valentine, remained quietly gazing at her, the vehicle drew up in front of the insane asylum.

Massetti was induced to enter the institution without the slightest trouble. Maximilian thereupon made all the necessary arrangements, and the young man was placed in comfortable quarters. The physician who examined him stated that his case was not beyond hope.



CHAPTER XX.

THE ISLE OF MONTE-CRISTO.

At the appointed time the Count of Monte-Cristo and Zuleika, accompanied by Ali, Peppino and Beppo, the two Italians attired in the traveling garb of French servants, left Paris for Marseilles. On their arrival at the latter city they proceeded immediately to the harbor, where Monte-Cristo's yacht awaited them in obedience to instructions telegraphed by the Count to the Captain of the craft, whose name was Vincenzo, and who was a son of Jacopo, the former smuggler, long in command of the ill-fated Alcyon, lost in the frightful storm and volcanic disturbance in the Mediterranean some years before. The present yacht was a new and superb vessel, as fleet and as beautiful as a bird. It was fitted up in the most complete manner; the cabin, superbly carpeted and furnished, was hung with elaborately wrought, costly tapestry, while here and there on the walls were curiously arrayed clusters of ancient barbaric weapons gathered from the site of old Carthage, the ruins of historic Babylon and even from the crumbling tombs of those redoubtable warriors who far back in the dim ages of antiquity had defended distant Cathay against the incursions of the fierce Tartar hordes. The yacht was named the Haydee in honor of the loving and devoted Greek slave, the mother of Esperance and Zuleika, who had filled such an important part in Monte-Cristo's life and had left behind her such tender memories.

As soon as the Count and his little party were safely on board the craft it set sail, gliding swiftly out upon the wide, sparkling expanse of water. Monte-Cristo and Zuleika stood upon the deck, conversing pleasantly and enjoying the ever-changing panorama presented to their gaze. The Haydee glided swiftly past the Ile Ratonneau, conspicuous by reason of its towering lighthouse; then came the Pointe des Catalans, with its beach where Mercedes had once dwelt and where the unfortunate sailor Dantes had seen the light in her chamber window on that memorable night when he was being conducted to captivity. At length a black and frowning rock rose before them, surmounted by a gloomy fortress. As he caught sight of this dismal crag, Monte-Cristo knitted his brows and through his clenched teeth muttered an imprecation upon the tyranny of man.

"What is it that so moves you, father?" asked Zuleika, in a soft voice, gazing solicitously into his face.

"Look yonder, my child," replied the Count, with strong emotion; "the fortress upon that rock is the accursed Chateau d' If!"

Zuleika glanced at the fortress with a feeling of terror and dread. She knew the story of her father's long imprisonment and keen suffering in the dark dungeon of that forbidding pile, of his meetings with the Abbe Faria there and of his subsequent daring escape; but she knew nothing of what had passed between the Abbe and the sailor Dantes relative to the famous treasure concealed by Cardinal Spada within the grottoes of the Isle of Monte-Cristo, the treasure that diverted from the grasp of Pope Alexander VI. had made the Count so enormously rich. On this topic her father had never yet seen fit to enlighten her. The sight of the Chateau d' If made her shudder and turn pale, though at the same time it fascinated and enchained her. She clung closely to Monte-Cristo and said, tremulously:

"Oh! what a frightful place it is! My very heart is chilled by its dismal aspect!"

"Dismal as it looks from here, my child," returned the Count, "it is a thousand times more so within! It is the chosen abode of gloom and despair!"

He gently put his daughter from him and gave way to a profound reverie in which he remained plunged for some moments. All the details of his imprisonment and the startling adventures that succeeded it passed through his mind in rapid review, and an ardent, irresistible desire to revisit the locality where he had unearthed Spada's millions took entire possession of him. Suddenly he said to Captain Vincenzo:

"Make for the Isle of Monte-Cristo!"

"Aye, aye, Signor Count," answered the Captain, and the necessary orders were at once given. The Haydee, promptly obeying her helm, swung about swiftly and gracefully, instantly darting off in the direction of the famous island.

Zuleika, on hearing her father's command, cast upon him a look of astonishment and anxiety. She had expected that they would proceed directly to Italy and this change in the yacht's course betokened another programme.

"My child," said the Count, divining her thoughts, "I propose to stop at the Isle of Monte-Cristo only a few hours; the delay will not be important, especially as we can make up the time lost by crowding sail, while I wish to show you some spots intimately connected with my history that will interest you."

"I shall be delighted to visit the Isle of Monte-Cristo, father," replied Zuleika. "I have heard so much about it and its wonders. You have a mansion there, have you not?"

The Count smiled, as he answered:

"Not exactly a mansion, Zuleika, but something that might be made to serve as a substitute for one did we need a temporary refuge, though I greatly fear that from long neglect we shall find it at present in a most deplorable condition."

Zuleika's curiosity was now considerably excited. What could this mysterious residence, or, as her father quaintly styled it, this substitute for a mansion be like? What knowledge she possessed of the Isle of Monte-Cristo had been derived from fragmentary recitals made to her by Mercedes and her son Albert de Morcerf, but as neither of these informants had ever set foot upon the island their information was necessarily very vague, though it made up in the marvellous what it lacked in distinctness.

At length, towards afternoon, the rocky shore of the Isle of Monte-Cristo became visible. The Count's visage brightened as he saw it and a thrill of pleasure passed through him. Though the Haydee was yet at a considerable distance he could plainly descry the lofty peak upon which he had stood and watched the smugglers depart in their tartane, La Jeune Amelie, on that eventful morning when, with his gun and pickaxe, he had started out to prosecute his search destined to be fraught with so much excitement and to be crowned with such a glorious, dazzling result. The golden sunlight fell full upon this peak and the surrounding masses of stone, making them glitter as if encrusted with sparkling diamonds of great price. Here and there grew olive trees and stunted shrubs that stood out distinctly against the blue, cloudless sky; as the yacht drew nearer their green tints formed a striking contrast with the prevailing hue of the rocks, adding vastly to the picturesqueness of the wild and romantic scene presented.

"How beautiful the island looks!" exclaimed Zuleika, enthusiastically, as she leaned against the bulwarks of the vessel and gazed out over the sea.

"Yes," replied Monte-Cristo, who was standing beside her, "it does, indeed, look beautiful from here, but a closer view will dispel the charm for the island is nothing but a barren waste."

"What! Is it a desert?" asked Zuleika, in surprise.

"A perfect desert, my child," answered the Count, "uncultivated and uninhabited."

"Uninhabited!" cried Zuleika, gazing intently at the shore. "I certainly see life there! Look! What was that?"

"A wild goat leaping from one rock to another," returned Monte-Cristo, smiling. "The island is full of them. When I said it was uninhabited I meant by human beings."

The Haydee by this time had approached as near the island as possible; she was therefore anchored. The Count then ordered a boat lowered, into which he descended with Zuleika and Ali. A stout sailor took the rudder, two others grasped the oars, and, in a few minutes, a little cove was gained and the disembarkation effected.

"Men," said the Count, addressing the sailors, "you can now row back to the yacht. When you see me come upon the beach and wave my handkerchief thrice, return for us."

"Aye, aye, Signor Count," answered the coxswain for the boat's crew. His words were accompanied by the fall of the oars and the boat shot off towards the Haydee.

"You are now on the Isle of Monte-Cristo," said the Count to Zuleika as he took her hand to lead her forward. "Prepare to see what you have termed its wonders!"

"They will, no doubt, prove wonders to me, at any rate," returned the girl, smiling.

The Nubian stood before his master with uncovered head, respectfully waiting for orders.

"Go in advance, Ali," said the Count, "and see that all is right."

The Nubian made a profound salaam in oriental fashion and hastened away.

The Count and his daughter leisurely followed. As they walked they disturbed hosts of grasshoppers, that leaped with a whirring flutter of wings from the bushes and fled before them. This amused Zuleika, but she could not repress a cry of affright as now and then a green, repulsive looking lizard emerged from under the loose stones beneath her very feet and shot hastily away in search of a more secure hiding-place. Occasionally, too, they saw wild goats that pricked up their ears and stared at them with wide open eyes, then gathering themselves for a spring bounded off up the rocks and vanished.

At last Monte-Cristo and Zuleika came upon the Nubian, who had stopped beside a huge bowlder that seemed to have lain for ages where it had fallen from the cliffs above. A thick, bushy growth of wild myrtle and flowering thorn had sprung up around it, and its surface was covered with emerald hued moss. The Count and his daughter also stopped, the former glancing around him and at the vast stone with evident satisfaction.

"Nothing has been touched since I was here last," said he, as if to himself; then, turning to Ali, he added: "Unmask the entrance to the grottoes!"

The Nubian produced a rusty crowbar from some nook where he had evidently concealed it in the past, thrusting the point beneath the bowlder; then he exerted a strong, steady pressure upon the crowbar and the great rock slowly moved aside, disclosing a circular opening in the midst of which was a square flagstone bearing in its centre an iron ring. Into this ring Ali inserted his crowbar and with a mighty effort raised the flagstone from its place. A stairway descending apparently to the bowels of the earth was disclosed, and from the sombre depths escaped a flow of damp, mephitic air.

Zuleika drew back in affright. All that had passed since they came to the bowlder was strange, bewildering and terrifying to her. Had the days of enchantment returned? Was Ali some potent wizard like Aladdin's pretended uncle in the old Arabian tale or was she simply under the dominion of some disordered dream? Her knees trembled beneath her and she moved as if to flee, but her father caught her by the arm and his smiling countenance reassured her.

"Fear nothing, Zuleika," he said, soothingly. "We are about to visit my subterranean palace. That is all."

By this time the atmosphere of the stairway had become purified and Monte-Cristo said to Ali:

"Descend and light up the grottoes. When all is ready give the usual signal."

The faithful servant entered the opening and vanished down the stairway. Soon a delicious oriental perfume ascended. This was followed by a vivid illumination of the gaping chasm and then came a long, reverberating whistle.

"Ali notifies us that all is prepared for our reception," said Monte-Cristo to Zuleika. "Come, my daughter!"

He descended the stairway first, Zuleika following him in a state of mind difficult to describe. She was not afraid now, but her sensations were of an exceedingly peculiar nature. The novelty and singularity of the adventure rather attracted her, though, at the same time, she felt a sort of reluctance to attempt it. However the opening was now as light as day, and as they descended the intoxicating perfume increased in intensity until it was almost as if acres of tube-roses had suddenly bloomed and filled the caverns with their heavy fragrance.

At the bottom of the stairway Ali received them, conducting them into a vast chamber that had evidently once possessed great splendor, but was at present dingy and dust-covered as if it had been long deserted. It was the apartment in which Monte-Cristo as Sinbad the Sailor had welcomed the Baron Franz d' Epinay years before, but the crimson brocade, worked with flowers of gold, though it still lined the chamber as it did then, was now faded and moth-eaten, while the Turkey carpet in which the Baron's feet had sunk to the instep, as well as the tapestry hanging in front of the doors, was in the same condition. The divan in the recess had been riddled by worms and the silver scabbards of the stand of Arabian swords that surmounted it were tarnished, the gems in the handles of the weapons alone retaining their brilliancy. The once beautiful lamp of Venice glass hanging from the ceiling, which Ali had filled and lighted, was also tarnished and its delicately shaped globe was cracked from top to bottom. Monte-Cristo sadly contemplated this scene of ruin and decay, but he contemplated it only for a moment. Then he turned to Zuleika and said:

"My child, this was once my salon and its beauty riveted the eyes of all who saw it, but I deserted it and time has done its work, aided by neglect—its beauty is no more! Shall I raise another ghost of the past and show you its former occupant?"

"Surely, I see him before me, do I not?" said Zuleika, gazing tenderly at her father.

"Not as he was, my child, not as he was. Wait here a few moments, with my faithful Ali as your guard and protector, and I will invoke the fantastic apparition!"

As he spoke he raised the faded tapestry, revealing the door leading to the inner apartment; opening this door and closing it behind him he was lost to sight; the tapestry fell back to its place, masking the point of entrance.

After a brief absence he reappeared dressed in his famous Tunisian costume, but that, alas! had also lost its pristine glory like everything else in this abandoned subterranean abode. Still the wrecks were there—the red cap with the long blue silk tassel; the vest of black cloth embroidered with gold; the pantaloons of deep red; the large, full gaiters of the same color, embroidered with gold like the vest; the yellow slippers; the cachemire around his waist, and the small, crooked cangiar passed through his girdle.

Zuleika gazed at him in amazement. In his faded, tarnished, moth-eaten finery he, indeed, looked like a fantastic apparition, a picturesque ghost of the past.

"Come, Zuleika," said he, "as I am in my festal attire let us visit the salle-a-manger!"

He moved aside the tapestry once more and again opened the door leading to the other apartment. Zuleika entered and the Count followed her, Ali remaining in the outer chamber to guard against surprise or intrusion. The marvellous salle-a-manger was precisely the same as the Baron d' Epinay had seen it. Here time seemed to have been defied. The marble of which the magnificent apartment was built was as bright and beautiful as ever, the antique bas-reliefs of priceless value were well preserved, and the four superb statues with baskets on their heads were yet in their places in the corners of the oblong room and yet perfect, though no pyramids of splendid fruit now filled the baskets. In the centre of the salle-a-manger the dining-table still stood with its dishes of silver and plates of Japanese china. It was at this table that both the Baron d' Epinay and Maximilian Morrel had taken that wonderful green preparation, that key to the gate of divine dreams, the hatchis of Alexandria, the hatchis of Abou-Gor. It was at this table that Maximilian, when falling under the influence of the potent drug, had caught his first glimpse of his beloved Valentine after her supposed death; it was at this table that he had been reunited to her on awaking from his hatchis dream. It was in this room that Haydee had confessed her love for Monte-Cristo and had been taken to his heart.

All these recollections came thronging upon the Count as he stood gazing about him. The thought of Haydee almost melted him to tears, but he forced back the briny drops, and, taking Zuleika tenderly in his arms, cried out, in a voice full of emotion:

"Oh! Haydee, Haydee, I have lost you, but you live for me again in this blessed treasure you have bequeathed to me—our darling daughter!"

Zuleika flung her arms about her father's neck and kissed him fervently.

"I know not," she said, effusively, "what memories, what associations, this room recalls, but it has made you think of my mother and I bless it!"

When they both had grown calmer, Monte-Cristo said to his daughter:

"There is yet another apartment for us to see. Let us go to it."

They entered the adjoining chamber. It was a strangely furnished apartment. Circular in shape it was surrounded by a large divan, which, as well as the walls, ceiling and floor, was covered with what had been magnificent skins of the large-maned lions of Atlas, striped Bengal tigers, spotted panthers of the Cape, bears of Siberia and foxes of Norway, but all these elegant furs that were strewn in profusion, one over another, had been eaten by moths and worms and rotted by the dampness until they scarcely held together. The divan was that upon which the Baron d' Epinay had reclined, and the chibougues, with jasmine tubes and amber mouthpieces, that he had seen, prepared so that there was no need to smoke the same pipe twice, were still in their places and were the only things in the whole room that had escaped from the clutch of years unscathed. This chamber was brilliantly illuminated by the blaze of several large lamps of tarnished silver and gold suspended from the ceiling and protruding from the walls, and the salle-a-manger was lighted in the same fashion.

Zuleika stood in the midst of all this decayed grandeur, lost in wonder, utterly bewildered by what she beheld. She spoke not a single syllable, for words were inadequate to express her deep amazement.

Monte-Cristo threw himself upon the divan from which a cloud of stifling dust arose. Taking one of the chibouques in which a supply of Turkish tobacco yet remained, he lighted it and began to smoke.

Zuleika now saw that the heavy, delicious perfume with which the grotto palace was filled came from frankincense smouldering in a huge malachite vase placed in the centre of this bewildering chamber.

After he had puffed a few whiffs of smoke from the chibouque, Monte-Cristo removed the amber mouthpiece from his lips and rising said:

"You have now seen my subterranean abode, Zuleika, the abode where in the past I sought refuge from the world and solace for my woes. It seems to you like the product of some potent magician's spell and, in truth, it was so, but that magician was good fortune and the spell was colossal wealth, to the vast and subtle influence of which all nations and all lands yield slavish submission and implicit obedience! You do not know the romantic, incredible history of this abode, my daughter, and it is not my intention to relate it to you, for your youthful brain could scarcely comprehend it. Be satisfied then with what you have beheld. Treasure it in your memory if you will either as a reality or merely as a passing vision, but do not, I conjure you, ever mention this adventure to me or any other living soul! I have had confidence in you, my child; repay that confidence by strictly obeying this wish, nay, this command, of mine! These grottoes belong to the past and to oblivion; to the past and to oblivion, therefore, let them be consigned! Promise me to do as I desire!"

Amazed by this strange speech, which the Count uttered in a voice tremulous with emotion, as much as by any of the inexplicable wonders she had seen, Zuleika replied, in a tone full of agitation:

"I promise, solemnly promise, father, to fulfil your injunctions in this matter to the very letter! I have a woman's curiosity and a woman's inclination to gossip," she added, with a faint smile, "but for your dear sake I will repress them both, at least, so far as concerns this truly marvellous subterranean palace and our visit to it to-day!"

"And you will keep your word, my noble child!" said Monte-Cristo, gazing tenderly and admiringly at her. "Now I will remove this Tunis dress in which I have been, without doubt, exceedingly ridiculous in your eyes, for you are altogether unacquainted with the associations that surround it and endear it to me, dignify it, so to speak, beyond any other costume I have ever worn!"

Zuleika lifted her hands in protest, exclaiming:

"You could not, dear father, appear ridiculous in my eyes, no matter in what garb you were clothed!"

Monte-Cristo smiled approvingly, but a trifle incredulously and quitted the circular apartment. When he returned he was clad in the costume he had worn on coming from the yacht.

"Take a last look around you, Zuleika," he said, in a tone he vainly endeavored to render firm. "We are now about to quit this place forever!"

He took her hand and led her from the room. Slowly and as if regretfully they passed through the salle-a-manger and the apartment they had first entered, gaining the stairway and preparing to ascend it. At the foot of the steps Monte-Cristo paused and turned to Ali. He was ghastly pale and trembled slightly. With a powerful effort he, however, controlled his agitation.

"Ali," said he, in a voice that sounded strangely in Zuleika's ear, "is everything in readiness?"

The faithful Nubian, scarcely less affected than his master, bowed affirmatively.

"Then farewell, ye grottoes of Monte-Cristo!" cried the Count, excitedly. "Farewell forever!"

He hastily mounted the stairway, almost dragging Zuleika with him. Ali remained below.

When they reached the open air they paused until the mute joined them; then the little party regained the beach, where Monte-Cristo waved his handkerchief thrice. In obedience to this signal the boat immediately left the yacht and was pulled swiftly to the shore.

A few moments later the Count, Zuleika and Ali were safely deposited on the Haydee's deck and the gallant little vessel turned her prow towards the Italian coast.

Monte-Cristo and his daughter, with Ali at a short distance from them, stood closely watching the fast disappearing island. The Count was more agitated and paler than he had yet been. Nervous tremors shook his frame and his teeth were firmly clenched. The usually impassible countenance of the faithful Nubian mute wore an expression of blank horror. Zuleika gazed at her father and then at the servant. She knew not what to make of their strange, inexplicable emotion. Placing her hand upon the Count's shoulder, she was about to speak to him, to endeavor to calm his agitation, when suddenly there was a loud explosion on the Isle of Monte-Cristo and a huge column of black smoke shot up into the air.

The Count covered his face with his hands as if to shut out the sight. Ali fell prostrate upon the deck, pressing his contorted visage against his master's feet.

"What was that, oh! father, what was that?" cried Zuleika, clinging to the Count in wild alarm.

"The subterranean palace of the Isle of Monte-Cristo is no more!" he replied, sadly. "At my command it replaced with its magnificence the rude and shapeless grottoes, at my command it has perished!"

As he spoke the rocky island was gradually lost to view in the distance, and the Haydee sped over the waves of the Mediterranean like some glorious water-fowl in full flight.



CHAPTER XXI.

ZULEIKA LEARNS THE TRUTH.

Nothing occurred to impede the progress of the Haydee and, after a rapid and pleasant voyage, the beautiful craft cast anchor in the harbor of Civita Vecchia, the principal seaport city of the Pontifical States, which owes its origin to the Emperor Trajan. The strict quarantine regulations of the place caused a brief delay, which Monte-Cristo and Zuleika bore with ill-concealed impatience, but the period required by law for purification at length expired and the travelers were accorded official permission to proceed to Rome. Of this they immediately availed themselves and in a short time were in the Eternal City comfortably installed in the best apartments the Hotel de France afforded.

The Count's first care was to send his card to M. and Mme. Morrel, who at once hastened to his parlor, where the most cordial greetings were exchanged. That Monte-Cristo should be in Rome did not in the slightest degree astonish Maximilian and Valentine, who were fully aware of his habit of suddenly making his appearance in unexpected spots apparently without motive, but the presence of Zuleika at this critical juncture both surprised them and filled them with consternation. What answer should they make to her when she inquired concerning Giovanni? How was the fact of his sad condition to be kept from her when all Rome knew of it and it was the current gossip of the city? Valentine had written several letters to the girl since quitting Paris, but in them had dealt only in generalities; she had studiously refrained from informing her of the true state of things, hoping against hope that she would eventually have some cheering intelligence to impart. The Count, however, speedily relieved the devoted husband and wife of their anxiety. He knew as well as they that his daughter could not fail soon to learn that the Viscount was a maniac and preferred to break the terrible news to her himself. As soon, therefore, as the greetings were over, before Zuleika could whisper to Mme. Morrel the question that was trembling on her lips, the dreaded inquiry as to her lover and his whereabouts, he said, in a quiet tone:

"Maximilian and Valentine, you, no doubt, wonder why we have come to Rome, what is our business here. I will tell you. We have come to clear an unfortunate man, the Viscount Giovanni Massetti, of a fearful charge that has long hung over him."

M. and Mme. Morrel exchanged glances. Now was their time to speak, to avow their mission to Monte-Cristo.

"Count," said Maximilian, pointing to his wife, "we also came hither on the same errand. Zuleika confessed her love for the young Italian to Valentine, who extracted from her the nature of the charge to which you have just alluded. Pardon us for having acted without your authorization, but we desired to succeed before confessing to you the part we had taken in the affair."

Monte-Cristo smiled.

"You need no pardon from me," he said, gently, much affected by this proof of devotion to his daughter and through her to him; "on the contrary you have my gratitude as well as Zuleika's! But what success have you met with?"

"Alas! none of any moment as yet," answered M. Morrel, sadly.

"Such a result was to be expected," returned the Count, gravely. "You had no evidence to establish Giovanni's innocence and it was impossible for you to obtain any. I have the evidence, conclusive evidence! When the proper moment arrives I will produce it, remove the stain from his name and confound his enemies!"

"Thank God!" simultaneously exclaimed M. and Mme. Morrel, Valentine taking Zuleika in her arms, kissing her and clasping her to her bosom.

"But," continued Monte-Cristo, glancing anxiously at his daughter, "the unfortunate young man must first be taken in hand and cured!"

Maximilian and Valentine again exchanged glances. They felt relieved. The Count knew all. He was making the disclosure gradually, considerately. They silently waited for further developments, holding their breath. Valentine's heart beat almost audibly. Zuleika started from her arms and gazed at her father with anxious, astonished eyes.

"Cured?" she repeated, in a tremulous voice. "Is Giovanni ill?"

"He is, my child," answered the Count.

What would he say next? How much was he going to disclose? Surely not the whole of the dreadful truth! These thoughts shot like lightning through the minds of M. and Mme. Morrel. Maximilian stood like a statue, motionless, pale, gazing upon Monte-Cristo as a condemned criminal gazes upon his executioner. Valentine seized her husband's hand and held it like a vise.

Zuleika stared at the Morrels; she could not understand their action, their breathless interest. Then her glance reverted to her father and, for the first time, she saw that, notwithstanding his apparent calmness, he, too, was under the dominion of some intense emotion.

"Father!" she cried, clasping her hands appealingly, "what do you mean? You say that Giovanni is ill, but your look expresses more than your words! With what fearful malady has he been stricken? Tell me, I conjure you! I will be strong—I will bear it!"

"My child," said the Count, in a solemn tone, "then summon all your courage, all your firmness to your aid! Young Massetti, overwhelmed by his troubles, has fallen a prey to a mental disease!"

"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" groaned Zuleika, in anguish, "do you mean to say that he has lost his mind, that he is a lunatic?"

"Such, alas! is the case! But, my daughter, trust in me! I will find him and science will effect his cure!"

The poor girl, stunned by the terrible intelligence of her lover's condition, stood for an instant with her eyes stonily fixed upon her father. Tears refused to come to her relief. Then she tottered, staggered as if she had been suddenly struck with a heavy missile, and fell fainting into Valentine's outstretched arms. Maximilian assisted his wife to place her in a fauteuil, after which he seized the bell cord.

"For what are you going to ring?" asked Monte-Cristo, who had hurried to his daughter's side.

"For brandy," answered M. Morrel, his hand still on the cord. "It will revive her."

"Never mind the brandy," returned the Count, as he took a small vial containing a red-looking fluid from his pocket and, opening Zuleika's mouth, poured eight drops of the liquid down her throat. "This is the Abbe Faria's elixir, a potent remedy that never yet failed of effect! It will work like a charm! See! It is already doing its office!"

As he uttered these words Zuleika moved slightly in the fauteuil, then opened her eyes and gazed about her in bewilderment. Almost immediately, however, she realized that she had swooned and a full sense of her father's terrible though considerately made revelation returned to her. She buried her face in her hands, quivered from head to foot, and then the glistening drops trickling through her fingers told that the tears had at last come to calm her. Valentine bent over her, gently stroking her raven hair and endeavoring in a womanly way to soothe her, while the Count and Maximilian looked on with anxious countenances, waiting for Mme. Morrel's touch and influence to do their work.

Suddenly Zuleika removed her hands from her tear-bathed visage, straightened herself up in the fauteuil and, fixing her glance on Monte-Cristo, said, in a low, faint and gasping tone that betrayed the depth, the intensity, of her emotion:

"Father, you spoke of finding Giovanni! Has he disappeared?"

The Count compressed his lips, hesitating to reply. He wished to keep back as much of the dread truth as possible. He feared the effect upon his daughter of the startling announcement that young Massetti was wandering about amid the ruins of the Colosseum like a second King Lear on the blasted heath. But Maximilian came quickly to his aid.

"There is no need to find the Viscount," he said. "He has already been found and is at present under treatment in a suitable institution, where he is both comfortable and contented."

Zuleika cast a grateful look at M. and Mme. Morrel. Monte-Cristo seized Maximilian's hand and pressed it warmly.

"You have done this, my friend," said he, his countenance brightening, "and I thank you for it!"

"Do not thank me," replied the husband, gazing fondly and admiringly at his wife; "thank Valentine, for she it was who formed the plan and successfully carried it into execution!"

Mme. Morrel cast down her eyes and a heightened color overspread her charming face.

"You are an angel, Valentine!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, enthusiastically. "Maximilian said awhile ago that no success of any moment had as yet crowned your united efforts, but his statement was too modest. Your success has been conspicuous; you have taken the first step that I designed making and simplified my task to a marked degree. I am deeply indebted to you both."

M. and Mme. Morrel lifted their hands and shook their heads in protest.

"The debt is all on our side," said Maximilian, deprecatingly, "and no matter what we may do we can never discharge it. We owe you the happiness of our lives!"

Monte-Cristo turned the conversation; he took but little credit to himself for the benefits he had conferred upon his fellow-creatures, considering that every good action on his part went towards atoning for the terrible catastrophes he had caused in the prosecution of his relentless vengeance against his old-time enemies.

"Tell me," said he, addressing M. Morrel, "what is the Viscount's present condition. Is he recovering?"

Maximilian looked hastily in the direction of Zuleika; the poor girl was intently watching him, eagerly waiting for his answer. His voice was somewhat unsteady as he replied:

"Ever since he was placed in the institution of which I told you he has received the closest and most skilful care, but his progress is very slow, almost imperceptible, though the physician who is ministering to him has never ceased to assure us that he will ultimately regain the full possession of his health and senses."

"Oh! take me to him, take me to him at once!" cried Zuleika, starting to her feet. "My place is by his side! I will nurse him, I will cure him!"

Monte-Cristo glanced at Maximilian, who shook his head negatively and whispered in the Count's ear:

"It will never do to take her to him now; the shock of seeing him would be too great! He would not even recognize her—he recognizes no one!"

Zuleika divined enough of what was passing to realize that Maximilian opposed her wishes, was striving to prevent her from going to her lover, from ministering to his wants. She sprang to her father, clasped her arms about his neck, and, looking pitifully and pleadingly into his face, exclaimed:

"Oh! take me to Giovanni, take me to him! Do not deny your loving, dutiful daughter's most earnest prayer! Do not deny it, oh! my beloved father, do not deny it!"

Monte-Cristo was touched to the very depths of his soul; M. and Mme. Morrel were equally affected. The Count, however, instantly decided what was to be done. Tenderly, compassionately, embracing his daughter, he said to her, in a soothing voice:

"My child, for the present it is best that you do not go to Giovanni. I will see him for you and without delay put a plan in operation that I do not doubt will result in his speedy cure. I know a wondrous physician whose skill is so great that he can almost restore the dead to life. He belongs to the despised race of Jews, but is a good as well as a marvellous man. His name is Dr. Israel Absalom and he resides here in Rome, within the walls of the shunned and execrated Ghetto, near the Capitoline Mount. I will go to him at once and take him to young Massetti. My daughter, rest assumed that this learned Hebrew will work another miracle and give your lover back to you and in all the glory of his mind and manhood! Be content, therefore, to remain where you are for a brief period, with our devoted friend Valentine as your companion and comforter."

"Yes, Zuleika," said Mme. Morrel, persuasively, "be content to remain with me. I will not quit you even for an instant. We will talk of Giovanni, of the happiness and joy the future has in store for both of you, and, believe me, the hours will pass on rapid wings!"

As Valentine spoke she gently disengaged the girl from her father's neck and passed her arm lovingly around her slender waist. Zuleika's head sank upon her friend's shoulder.

"I yield to my father's solicitations and to your own, Valentine," she said, submissively. "You are older and wiser than I am and what you say is without doubt for the best. I will remain and trust to the wondrous physician."

"I have heard a great deal of this Dr. Absalom since I have been in Rome," said M. Morrel, addressing Monte-Cristo. "The common people regard him as a magician and the higher classes as a cunning charlatan, but, if his legitimate scientific skill is generally denied, his brilliant and marvellous success, even in cases that the best Roman physicians have abandoned as hopeless, is universally admitted."

"Dr. Absalom is neither a magician nor a charlatan," answered Monte-Cristo, warmly, "but a physician of the utmost experience and of the highest possible attainments. He is bent beneath the weight of years and arduous study, yet his eye is as keen and his perception as acute as if he were a youth of twenty. No man knows either his age or his history. I met him long ago in Athens, where I had the good fortune to rescue him from the clutches of a howling mob of ruffians who had seized upon him and were about to slay him as a sorcerer because he had taken into his hut and cured of the plague a wretched Greek who had been cast into the streets to die! For my sake he will save Giovanni!"