"But," said Maximilian, as a sudden thought occurred to him and filled him with dismay, "Dr. Absalom can practise outside of the Ghetto only by stealth and at the risk of being thrown into prison! He will not be allowed to visit the Viscount Massetti!"

The Count of Monte-Cristo drew himself up proudly and his peculiar smile passed over his countenance.

"I will take care of that!" he said, impressively.

Zuleika was left with Mme. Morrel, and, accompanied by Maximilian, Monte-Cristo at once started for the Ghetto.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE WONDROUS PHYSICIAN.

A brisk walk of half an hour brought the Count and his companion to one of the two gates in the wall of the Ghetto or Jews' quarter of Rome. Monte-Cristo knocked at a wicket and a policeman immediately appeared. He was a young man and wore a military dress. His coat was buttoned to the throat, a yellow cord and tassel gracefully looped over the breast. His hands were encased in white cotton gloves, a helmet adorned with brass was upon his head and at his side hung a sword, while on the collar of his coat the number of his regiment shone in gilt figures. The man's bearing was soldierly and he had evidently seen service in the field. The Count addressed him in Italian, informing him that he and M. Morrel desired to visit the Ghetto, at the same time exhibiting their passports. After examining the papers and seeing that they were in proper form the policeman opened the gate and the visitors entered the crowded and filthy precincts of the Jews' quarter.

"Mon Dieu! what vile odors!" exclaimed M. Morrel, placing his handkerchief saturated with cologne to his nose, as they hurried through the narrow, garbage-encumbered lanes.

"The atmosphere is not like that of a perfumer's shop!" replied the Count, laughing. "But it seems to suit the children of Israel, for they thrive and multiply in it as the sparrows in the pure air and green fields of England!"

"I pity them!" said Maximilian.

"Tastes differ," returned Monte-Cristo, philosophically. "I will wager that in this whole quarter we could not find a single Jew who would eat a partridge in that state of partial decay in which a Frenchman deems it most palatable!"

"What a strange, uncouth place this is," said M. Morrel, after a brief silence. "It seems like some city of the far orient. No one, suddenly transported here, would ever imagine that he was in the heart of Rome."

"It closely resembles the Judengasse at Frankfort-on-the-Main," replied the Count, "and is quite as ancient though much larger. But the Germans are more progressive and liberal than the Romans, for the gates that closed the Judengasse were removed in 1806, while those of the Ghetto still remain and are, as you have seen, in charge of the police, who subject every person entering or quitting the place to the closest scrutiny. Even as far back as the 17th century the gates of the Judengasse were shut and locked only at nightfall, after which no Jew could venture into any other part of Frankfort without incurring a heavy penalty if caught, whereas here at the present time, in this age of enlightenment and religious toleration, the gates of the Ghetto are kept closed day and night, and the poor Israelites, victims of bigotry and unreasoning prejudice, are treated worse than the pariahs in Hindoostan! Rome is the Eternal City and verily its faults are as eternal as itself!"

Monte-Cristo had evidently visited the Ghetto before, as he seemed thoroughly familiar with its crooked lanes and obscure byways, pursuing his course without hesitation or pause for inquiry. It apparently contained no new sights or surprises for him. To M. Morrel, on the contrary, who now was within its walls for the first time, it presented an unending series of wonders. The buildings particularly impressed him. They looked as if erected away back in remote antiquity, and were curiously quaint combinations of wood and stone, exceedingly picturesque in appearance. Most of them were not more than eight or ten feet wide and towered to a height of four stories, resembling dwarfed steeples rather than houses. Not a new or modern edifice was to be seen in any direction. Many of the buildings were in a ruinous condition and some seemed actually about to crumble to pieces, while here and there great piles of shapeless rubbish marked the spots where others had fallen. As they were passing one of these piles, much larger than the rest, Maximilian called Monte-Cristo's attention to it. The Count glanced at it and said:

"That was once the dwelling of old Isaac Nabal, known to his people as Isaac the Moneylender, but styled by the Romans Isaac the Usurer. He was enormously rich and loaned his gold at exorbitant rates to the extravagant and impecunious Roman nobles. Isaac was wifeless and childless, but so eager for gain was he that he kept his house constantly filled with lodgers. The house was perhaps the oldest in all the Ghetto. Strange noises were heard in it every night occasioned by the falling of plaster or partition walls. It was no uncommon thing for a lodger to be suddenly roused from his sleep by a crash and find himself bruised and bleeding. Still old Isaac sturdily refused to make repairs. He asserted that the rickety edifice would last as long as he did, and he was not wrong, for one night it came down bodily about his ears and he perished amid the ruins together with thirty others, all who were in the aged rookery at the time. This catastrophe happened twenty years ago."

"Do the houses often fall here?" asked M. Morrel, glancing uneasily around him at the dilapidated buildings.

"Very often," answered the Count. "Age and decay will bring them all down sooner or later."

"Then for Heaven's sake let us hasten lest we be crushed beneath some sudden wreck!" said Maximilian. "The houses project over the street at the upper stories until they almost join each other in mid air. If one should fall there would be no escape!"

"Have no fear, Maximilian!" replied Monte-Cristo, smiling. "A famous astrologer once assured me that I bore a charmed life, and if I escape you will also!"

The ground floors of the houses were for the most part occupied as shops of various kinds and the upper portions used as dwellings. Jewish merchants stood at the doors of the shops and Jewish women, some of them very beautiful, were occasionally seen at the upper windows. The streets were thronged with pedestrians of both sexes and here and there groups of chubby, black-haired children were at play.

Maximilian was amazed to notice that most of the men they met took off their hats to Monte-Cristo and that some of them saluted him by name.

"You appear to be pretty well known to the Israelites," said he, at length.

"Yes," answered the Count, "many of them know me. I have had frequent occasion to consult with them on matters of importance. They are a shrewd and trusty people."

By this time Monte-Cristo and M. Morrel had reached a lane narrower and darker than any they had yet traversed. Into this the Count turned and after he had taken his companion a short distance stopped in front of a dingy but well-preserved building. It differed from its neighbors in having no shop on the ground floor and in being tightly closed from bottom to top. It looked as if it were uninhabited.

"We have reached our destination," said Monte-Cristo. "This is the residence of Dr. Absalom."

Maximilian stared at him in astonishment.

"The house is deserted," said he. "Are you not mistaken?"

"No. This is the place."

"I fear then that the physician has left it and perhaps also the Ghetto."

Monte-Cristo smiled.

"You do not know him," he said. "His habits and manner of living are very peculiar. Prepare to be greatly surprised!"

Thus speaking he went to the door of the tightly-closed dwelling and struck five loud raps upon it, three very quickly and two very slowly delivered. The sounds seemed to reverberate through the house as if it were not only uninhabited but also unfurnished. Several minutes elapsed but no response was heard to Monte-Cristo's signal, no one came in obedience to his summons. The Count held his watch in his hand and his eyes were riveted upon the dial.

M. Morrel grew slightly impatient; he said to his companion, triumphantly:

"I told you that the house was deserted and I was right!"

The Count smiled again, but made no reply, still keeping his eyes fixed on the dial of his watch.

"Ten minutes!" said he, and he repeated his signal, but this time struck only three rapid blows. As before no answer was returned.

Maximilian was much interested and not a little amused, the Count's proceedings were so singular.

"Fifteen minutes!" said Monte-Cristo at length, putting up his watch and giving one long, resounding rap upon the door.

The effect was instantaneous. The portal swung open through some unseen influence, as if by magic, disclosing a long, bare, gloomy corridor, but not a sign of human life was visible.

M. Morrel's interest and amusement changed to wonder and amazement; he was thoroughly mystified and bewildered.

"The common people of Rome are not very far astray in their estimate of this Dr. Absalom!" he muttered. "This certainly looks as if the man were a magician!"

"Pshaw!" returned Monte-Cristo, with a display of impatience he rarely exhibited. "The learned Hebrew is compelled to take his precautions; that is all. Follow me, and no matter what you may see or hear, if you wish our enterprise to be crowned with success utter not a word, not a sound, until I give you permission!"

The Count entered the corridor, followed by his perplexed and astounded friend. Immediately the door closed noiselessly behind them and they found themselves amid thick darkness. Monte-Cristo took M. Morrel by the hand, leading him forward until their progress was completely barred by what appeared to be the end of the corridor. Here the Count paused and said some words in Hebrew. A faint response came promptly from beyond the corridor in the same language, and immediately the light of a lamp flashed upon the visitors. A door had opened and on the threshold stood the strangest looking specimen of humanity Maximilian had ever beheld. The new comer was a very aged man, with stooped shoulders, a long white beard that reached to his waist and a profusion of snowy hair that escaped from beneath a cap of purple velvet at the side of which hung a bright crimson tassel. He wore a long Persian caftan of pink satin, profusely and beautifully embroidered with gold, full oriental trousers of red velvet and elaborately adorned slippers of tiger skin. On his long, bony fingers sparkled several diamond rings undoubtedly of immense value and a cluster of brilliant emeralds magnificently set in gold adorned his breast. This singular vision of eastern luxury, wealth and sumptuousness held the lamp, which was of wrought bronze and resembled those found among the ruins of ancient Pompeii, above his head and by its light Maximilian could see that his eyes were keen and piercing and that his countenance betokened the highest intellectuality.

"Who is it that thus summons the sage from his meditations?" asked the old man, in a remarkably youthful voice. This time he spoke in Italian.

"One who served you in the past, oh! Dr. Absalom," replied Monte-Cristo, also using the language of Italy, "and who now solicits a service of you in return. Remember the mob of Athens and the Frank who interposed to save you from destruction!"

The old man lowered his lamp and held it close to his famous visitor's face; then he joyfully exclaimed:

"Welcome, Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte-Cristo! Welcome to the abode of your devoted servant Israel Absalom! Whatever he can do to serve you shall be done, no matter at what cost!"

Then, for the first time, he observed that the Count was not alone and fixed his keen eyes on M. Morrel with a look of suspicion and inquiry.

"One of my dearest friends, M. Maximilian Morrel, Captain in the Army of France," said Monte-Cristo, in answer to this look. "You can have as full confidence in him as in me."

Dr. Absalom bowed profoundly to M. Morrel, and without another word led the way to an inner apartment. It was a vast chamber, closed like the front of the house, brilliantly illuminated by a huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling in which burned twenty wax candles of various hues. The room was provided with all the apparatus and paraphernalia of a chemist's laboratory of modern days, also containing many strange instruments and machines such as aided the researches and labors of the old-time disciples of alchemy.

In the centre of the apartment stood a vast table covered with gigantic parchment-bound tomes and rolls of yellow manuscript. Behind this table was a huge, high-backed chair of elaborate antique workmanship resembling the throne of some Asiatic sovereign of the remote past. In this chair the physician seated himself after having installed his visitors each upon a commodious and comfortable Turkish divan.

Maximilian noticed that the floor of the room was covered with soft and elegant Persian rugs and that the walls were hung with exquisitely beautiful tapestry. Monte-Cristo had warned him to prepare to be greatly surprised, but Dr. Absalom's lavish display of wealth, luxury and taste in the midst of the filthy, dilapidated Ghetto, nevertheless, absolutely stunned him. The Count had also cautioned him not to speak without his permission—a useless injunction, for the young Frenchman was too much amazed to utter a syllable.

After seating himself the Hebrew sage, who seemed to be a man of business as well as of science, requested the Count to state in what he could serve him. Thereupon Monte-Cristo succinctly related the history of the Viscount Massetti, told of his mental malady, his confinement in the insane asylum and ended by asking the physician if he could and would cure him.

"I have already heard somewhat of this unfortunate young man," replied Dr. Absalom, "and the fact of his insanity was also imparted to me, but before expressing an opinion as to what my science can do in his case, I must have the particulars."

The Count motioned to M. Morrel, who, having by this time partially recovered from his bewilderment, at once proceeded to give the aged Hebrew the information he required. When he had concluded Dr. Absalom said, in a quiet, confident tone:

"Count of Monte-Cristo, the case is plain. I can and will cure this stricken young Italian!"

"I was sure of it!" cried the Count, joyously and triumphantly. M. Morrel was not less delighted, but, at the same time, he could not feel as confident as his friend of the Jew's ability to perform his promise.

The physician spoke a few words in Hebrew to Monte-Cristo. The reply of the latter seemed to give him entire satisfaction, for he said in Italian:

"In that event there will be no opposition from either the authorities of Rome or those of the insane asylum. I will be at the asylum at noon to-morrow, fully prepared to restore Massetti to health and reason!"

The Count and Maximilian arose and bidding the sage adieu were conducted by him to the corridor. They were soon in the street and made their way out of the Ghetto as speedily as possible.



CHAPTER XXIII.

A MODERN MIRACLE.

Monte-Cristo, whose power and influence seemed to be absolutely boundless, presented himself on the following morning at the insane asylum where the Viscount Massetti was under treatment armed with a permit from the Papal Secretary of State, Cardinal Monti, for the Hebrew physician, Dr. Israel Absalom, to assume charge of the case of the noble patient. The director of the institution shrugged his shoulders when this permit was exhibited to him by M. Morrel, who had accompanied the Count for the purpose of introducing him to that official.

"Messieurs," said he, in very good French, "I am bound to respect this paper, but I solemnly protest against trusting the patient to this Hebrew charlatan and wash my hands of all responsibility in the premises!"

"M. the director," replied Monte-Cristo, in a dignified tone, "notwithstanding the repeated assertion of your physician who has been in charge of young Massetti ever since his arrival here that his malady was entirely curable, he has made but little if any progress with the sufferer, who to-day is still insane. Dr. Absalom, even though he be a charlatan as you maintain, but which, if you will pardon me, I must decline to admit, could not make a more conspicuous and complete failure!"

"M. the Count," said the director, coldly, evidently not relishing Monte-Cristo's bluntness, "all that the most advanced science can do has been done. Insanity is a disease slow and difficult of cure; time is required to produce results and it will be fully a year before the Viscount can, even under the most favorable circumstances, be thoroughly restored."

"Your experience entitles your opinion to respect," returned the Count, with equal coldness, "but still I cannot accept that opinion as final."

"As you please," said the official, haughtily. "After your Jewish physician, if he really be such, has vainly administered his nostrums and ineffectually mumbled his incantations, you will be glad enough to have the regular practitioner of the asylum resume the functions of which you now see fit so summarily to deprive him."

"Perhaps," answered the Count, smiling. "It is part of my creed never to despise science in whatever form it may come!"

The director bowed with satirical politeness.

At noon precisely Dr. Absalom arrived. He had discarded his gaudy and fantastic attire of the previous day and appeared in the ordinary street dress of a European. If he had seemed imposing to Maximilian at his house in the Ghetto, he looked still more imposing to him now, shorn as he was of all oriental accessories and depending for effect upon the wondrous intellectual aspect of his countenance alone. The only article of luxury he had about him was a massive gold-headed cane on which his years caused him to lean heavily.

Monte-Cristo and M. Morrel received him with the utmost courtesy and deference, but the director hardly noticed him and with difficulty concealed his disgust. The Hebrew sage, however, was used to the uncivil manner in which the Italians treated the people of his nation and showed not the faintest sign of displeasure, though the Count and Maximilian could scarcely restrain themselves from resenting the official's insulting behavior.

Without delay Dr. Absalom was conducted to young Massetti's chamber by the physician who up to that time had attended the patient. He was an elderly man, but though an Italian showed marked respect for the aged, noble-looking Hebrew. Monte-Cristo and M. Morrel accompanied the two savants, the former confident in Dr. Absalom's power to perform his promise, the latter hoping for his success, yet doubtful of it.

As the party entered the apartment of the maniac the Italian physician said to his Jewish confrere:

"Dr. Absalom, I would very much like to witness your mode of treatment. Will you kindly permit me to remain in the room?"

"Certainly," replied the Hebrew. "I have nothing whatever to conceal; but," he added, with twinkling eyes, "I warn you in advance that you will be no wiser after you have witnessed my operations and their result than you are at present!"

The Viscount was sitting in a large arm-chair, his face buried in his hands. At the entrance of the four men he murmured, without looking up:

"Why has the beautiful vision left me? Why does the divine Juno deny me the light of her presence?"

Dr. Absalom glanced inquiringly at his companions.

"He means Valentine, my wife," explained Maximilian. "She resorted to a pardonable little artifice to lure him hither."

"Let her be sent for at once," said the Hebrew. "I shall have need of her."

"But," objected Monte-Cristo, "Mme. Morrel is taking charge of my daughter, this poor young man's betrothed, who is terribly cast down by her lover's fearful misfortune and cannot be left alone."

"His betrothed!" exclaimed Dr. Absalom. "Better and better! Let her also be brought! I shall have need of her too!"

"You shall be obeyed, Doctor," said Monte-Cristo, and M. Morrel was at once dispatched to the Hotel de France with instructions to return immediately with his wife and Zuleika.

When they had arrived and their presence in an adjoining apartment was announced to Dr. Absalom by Maximilian, the Hebrew said:

"M. Morrel, kindly conduct your wife hither, and you, M. the Count, go to your daughter and remain with her until I summon you. Tell the poor child to be of good cheer! that her lover shall be restored to her!"

Monte-Cristo quitted the chamber, followed by Maximilian, who instantly came back with Valentine.

"Mme. Morrel," said the Jewish physician, "go to the patient and take his hand."

Valentine did as directed. At her touch the Viscount started up, exclaiming, in tones of the utmost delight:

"Divine Juno, pardon me! I have wronged you! I thought you had deserted me, but I was in error, for you are here!"

He fixed his eyes upon her, gazing at her like one entranced, paying no heed whatever to the others in the apartment. Valentine glanced at Dr. Absalom, who slowly left his place, gliding stealthily to Massetti's side. Erecting himself to his full height, he extended his hands above Giovanni's head; almost instantly the demented man sank back into his chair as if pressed down by some colossal, some irresistible force; then he closed his eyes, falling into a calm, peaceful slumber. Valentine, released from his clasp, stood looking on, lost in speechless wonder. Maximilian was also amazed at this prompt exhibition of the Hebrew's power, but the Italian physician, who had been intently watching, whispered in his ear:

"The Jew is a mesmerist; that is all; at least, all that has been developed so far!"

Meanwhile Dr. Absalom continued to hold his hands above the patient's head that drooped more and more until it finally sank upon his breast. For a moment longer the Hebrew maintained his position; then he withdrew his hands, taking a small vial from the pocket of his coat and uncorking it; immediately a powerful and subtle odor pervaded the apartment, causing Valentine, Maximilian and the Italian physician to breathe painfully, as if stifling.

"What is it?" gasped M. Morrel, catching the Italian by the arm.

"I do not know," answered the latter. "But look at Massetti—his face is violet, the preliminary hue of death! If the Jew kills the patient nothing can save him from the fury of the Roman populace!"

The subtle odor increased in intensity and the Viscount's face changed from violet to an ashen paleness.

"He is dead!" cried the Italian. "Dr. Absalom, you are a murderer!"

The Hebrew waved his hand commandingly and, with a look of the utmost dignity and sternness, said:

"Be silent and wait!"

He corked the vial, replaced it in his pocket and opened a window. The fresh air flooded the place and gradually the oppressive odor vanished.

The patient was yet of a ghastly pallor. Dr. Absalom felt his pulse, counting the beats by his watch. A smile of satisfaction overspread his intellectual countenance.

"The remedy has done its work!" he said. "Now for the second and vital application! Whatever may happen," he added, impressively, turning to the Italian physician, "I charge you on your life not to interfere or interrupt me!"

Producing another vial, larger than the first, he held it aloft and shook it, examining its contents with the closest scrutiny. The deeply interested and somewhat awed observers saw a bright green fluid flash in the sunlight. Satisfied with his examination, the Hebrew uncorked the vial; then, opening the patient's mouth, he poured the emerald liquid gradually down his throat, drop by drop. For some seconds after this no change in Massetti was perceptible. He still sat sleeping in his chair with his head bowed, and the ghastly hue of his visage remained unaltered. Dr. Absalom had again drawn his watch from his fob, dividing his attention between noting the flight of time and intently observing the patient. So profound was the silence in the room that the regular tick of the watch was distinctly audible in all parts of it.

Suddenly Giovanni began to quiver. A violent convulsion followed, shaking him from head to foot and fearfully contorting his face, his hands curling up like a strip of paper that has been scraped with a knife. His condition was frightful to behold. Maximilian and the Italian looked on anxiously, holding their breath. Valentine unable to bear the sight turned away, emotion and terror contending within her for the mastery. The Hebrew, however, was all nerve and confidence. When a quarter of an hour had elapsed he put up his watch. Massetti's convulsion had passed away, his hands had uncurled and his unearthly pallor had been succeeded by a faint flush. He reclined in his chair as if wrapped in a healthful slumber. Presently his lips parted.

"Zuleika!" he murmured. "Oh! my beloved!"

Dr. Absalom glanced at the Italian physician significantly, triumphantly.

"The patient is dreaming," he said, "and it is a good sign—he is dreaming of his betrothed whom in his insanity he had entirely forgotten—another good sign! My treatment is working! I shall succeed!" Turning to Maximilian, he added: "Aid me to place the Viscount upon his bed, if you please."

M. Morrel complied with alacrity and Massetti was immediately extended on his couch in a comfortable position. Dr. Absalom again felt his pulse, counting it as before by his watch; then he said:

"The patient may now awake at any time, but it is probable that fifteen minutes will first elapse. Let the Count and his daughter be summoned."

Maximilian opened the door and beckoned without. Monte-Cristo and Zuleika entered.

"My child," said the Hebrew, taking the latter by the hand and leading her to her lover's bedside, "look upon your betrothed! He is sleeping peacefully and dreaming of you! Awhile ago he uttered your name! Courage, daughter, courage! The worst is over! The clouds are sweeping from the young man's mind to leave it clear and perfect! Remain here where I place you! It is important that upon awaking the patient's eyes shall rest on you!"

Zuleika, astounded, bewildered, gazed at her lover and with difficulty resisted the impulse to cast herself upon his neck.

Monte-Cristo, Maximilian, Valentine and the Italian physician grouped themselves a short distance away, waiting and watching. Their eagerness and anxiety were intense.

Five minutes, ten minutes passed, then fifteen. As Dr. Absalom's watch told the quarter of an hour, the Viscount all at once opened his eyes. They rested on Zuleika. The anxious interest of the spectators was now at the highest pitch. The Count, M. Morrel, Valentine and the Italian leaned forward breathlessly. Giovanni put his hand to his brow, uttered a low sigh and then sat up, gazing at Monte-Cristo's daughter in bewilderment. At last he spoke.

"Zuleika, darling Zuleika!" he said, faintly, but very tenderly, at the same time extending his arms towards her. The girl glanced at Dr. Absalom. He pointed to Giovanni and smiled. She instantly comprehended his permission and threw herself into her lover's embrace.

"Giovanni, dear Giovanni," she murmured, "you are yourself again, are you not?"

"Myself, Zuleika? Have I ever been otherwise?"

"You have been very ill, Giovanni."

"Ah! yes. That is the reason I am here." Glancing around him he added: "There is your father, too, but who are those strangers with him?"

"The physicians, and two of our most devoted friends, M. Morrel and his wife."

The Viscount sank back upon the couch and took Zuleika's hand in his, clasping it warmly.

"I feel faint and feeble," he said, "oh! so very faint and feeble, but a terrible, crushing weight seems to have been removed from my brain!"

He spoke rationally. Dr. Absalom had worked a modern miracle—the young man's reason was fully restored!

The Count and Maximilian exchanged glances of delight. Valentine's eyes were wet with tears of joy. As for Zuleika, her cup of happiness was full. Dr. Absalom smiled placidly. The Italian physician advanced and took him by the hand.

"I congratulate you," said he, cordially. "Your skill is simply amazing!"

The Hebrew bowed profoundly.

"Doctor," said he, "I have fulfilled my promise and my portion of the work is done. The rest remains for you to accomplish. You must resume charge of the patient and restore his strength."

With these words the old savant resumed his hat, saluted all present and, leaning heavily upon his gold-headed cane, passed slowly from the apartment.

Monte-Cristo followed him, enthusiastically expressing his gratitude; taking from his pocket a huge roll of bank-bills, he offered it to the Hebrew, but the latter firmly refused to accept.

"I remember the Athenian mob, M. the Count!" said he, impressively.

As they passed the director's office, that official came out.

"Well?" said he to Monte-Cristo. "The Jew has failed, of course!"

"He has succeeded!" replied the Count, with a smile of triumph.

"You do not mean to tell me that the patient is restored to reason!" exclaimed the director.

"That is exactly what I do mean to tell you!" retorted Monte-Cristo, sharply.

"Humph! there is some cunning trick about this!" cried the official, returning to his office and abruptly closing the door behind him.

The Italian physician resumed charge of the Viscount Massetti, Zuleika and Valentine nursing him by turns. In two weeks the young man quitted the asylum as fully restored in body as he was in mind.



CHAPTER XXIV.

A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER.

When the Viscount Massetti quitted the insane asylum, Monte-Cristo provided quarters for him at the Hotel de France where he could be near both himself and his daughter. During the period of the young Italian's convalescence the Count had refrained from communicating to him the details of the foul conspiracy disclosed by Peppino, but no sooner was Zuleika's betrothed installed in the hotel than he gave him all the startling particulars. Massetti was not astonished, for he had long suspected a portion at least of the truth, but his indignation against old Pasquale Solara knew no bounds, and inwardly he swore to take speedy and complete vengeance upon him though the Count warned him to be exceedingly prudent and not to imperil the success of his operations in his behalf by any rash proceeding. Monte-Cristo did not inform the young Italian of his plans, distrusting his natural hot-headedness and impetuosity, but urged him to be content to leave the prosecution of the scheme of rehabilitation entirely in his hands. The Count had also instructed the Viscount that in consequence of Peppino's revelations he had no further objections to his union with Zuleika and that the marriage should take place immediately upon the full and open establishment of his innocence in the eyes of the world. At this the ardent young man was delighted to his heart's core; the certainty of his approaching happiness and the tenderness the girl exhibited for him compensated in a large degree for all his trials and tortures, but at the same time he was impatient of the necessary delay in restoring him to the possession of an unstained name and reputation, thinking that Monte-Cristo was much too careful and slow.

He was now permitted to see Zuleika almost constantly and their love tete-a-tetes were of the most delicious and impassioned description. They passed hours together upon the vast upper balcony of the hotel in the soft Italian dusk and moonlight evenings, discoursing those sweet and tender nothings so precious to lovers and so insipid to matter-of-fact people whose days of romantic attachment are over. Sometimes, however, their conversation was of a more practical character; they spoke of their projects for the future—where they should go on their bridal tour and what they should do before settling down to the calm, peaceful existence of placid matrimonial joy. They had decided to take up their permanent residence in Paris; thus they would always be near Monte-Cristo, Esperance and Mercedes, near Albert de Morcerf and his wife, near those friends of friends Maximilian and Valentine Morrel; besides in the gay French capital, the city of cities, while enjoying themselves to the utmost they could escape all allusions to Giovanni's past which they could not possibly hope for did they settle in Rome, where every time the youthful couple appeared in public the old scandal, the old charge against the Viscount would undoubtedly be freshly and perhaps venomously commented upon.

Occasionally, when Zuleika was with her father or in company with Mme. Morrel, young Massetti would take long walks into the country for the purpose of breathing the free air and increasing his strength by means of healthful exercise. During these strolls he shunned every person he met, it being Monte-Cristo's desire that he should studiously avoid observation.

The news of Massetti's sudden and marvellous cure had spread throughout Rome, but people shook their heads when they talked of it and agreed with the opinion expressed by the director of the insane asylum that Dr. Absalom had made use of some trick, the influence of which could not be permanent, but would soon be dissipated, when the poor, deluded Viscount would instantly fall into a worse mental condition than before.

Undoubtedly the Count Massetti heard of his son's restoration to sanity and bodily health, but he paid no attention whatever to it, continuing proudly and haughtily to ignore the fact of Giovanni's existence. Monte-Cristo had not called upon the aged and inflexible nobleman for two reasons—he feared that his indignation would get the better of him in an interview and, besides, he knew it would be entirely useless to approach the Count without being armed with young Massetti's complete vindication.

During one of those strolls already alluded to the Viscount went much further than usual. It was a bright, balmy and cheerful morning, and the sun's gladdening radiance, the brilliant green of the trees, the fragrant odors from flowers and grass, the chirping of insect life and the wild, intoxicating songs of the birds all contributed to draw him on and to make him forget Monte-Cristo's injunctions as to keeping out of the sight of the passers-by.

He scarcely noticed in what direction he walked or what road he took, indulging in a careless, delicious daydream full of dolce far niente delights. He had fixed his eyes upon the ground and was sauntering leisurely along when, all at once, he became conscious that some one was approaching. He hastily looked up. The pedestrian was yet some distance away, but his heavy shoes clattered upon the gravel of the highway with a ringing sound. He was evidently an old man and a peasant. In his right hand he held a staff and his large, broad-brimmed hat was drawn down slightly over his visage as if to protect it from the heat of the sun. Giovanni was about to step aside into a little grove of chestnut trees beside the road there to wait until the new comer had passed, but on taking a second glance at him something familiar in his aspect suddenly arrested him, and by one of those inexplicable impulses which sometimes take possession of a man he paused and waited.

The peasant had also noticed Giovanni and his action, but he did not relax his pace, did not seem inclined to pay even the slightest attention to him. He came tramping on, reached the Viscount and passed him without as much as a nod of the head in salutation. But Massetti with a start recognized him. With a flush of rage on his face and all his blood boiling in his veins, he turned, sprang after the old man and laid his hand upon his shoulder. The peasant abruptly halted, also turned, and a fierce imprecation escaped his lips. He surveyed the irate young Italian from head to foot, sneeringly, scowlingly.

"Why, do you stop me?" he said, roughly. "I do not know you."

"But, Pasquale Solara, I know you!" exclaimed the Viscount. "We have met in good time and in a fit place! The opportunity for which I have long and impatiently waited has at length arrived! You shall feel the crushing weight of my vengeance! You shall answer to me for your despicable, your unnatural crimes! Pasquale Solara, base wretch who sold your own daughter to a fate worse than death, ignoble scoundrel who did not respect the dictates of hospitality, I am Giovanni Massetti!"

As he spoke he leaped in front of the morose shepherd, barring his passage with his body.

"Well, what if you are Giovanni Massetti!" replied old Pasquale, coldly and defiantly. "I care not for you! Stand out of my path and let me pass before I strike you to the earth as I would a mongrel, yelping cur!"

With these words he raised his staff menacingly over the young Italian. The latter with the quickness and agility of a deer sprang at the staff, grasped it and sent it whirling into the chestnut grove. Then he caught old Solara by the throat and a terrible struggle at once began. The two men closed with each other as if in a death-clutch, wrestling like a couple of athletes. Massetti had not yet regained his full vigor, but his rage lent him strength. On his side, Pasquale, though old, had muscles of steel and a grasp like iron. He whirled his adversary round and round, at times almost overturning him, but the Viscount struggled manfully, occasionally wrenching the shepherd from his feet and lifting him bodily in the air. The breath of both came forth in hot, quick, labored gasps, while their faces were red with exertion. For a long while the result was doubtful, the strife continuing fiercely without any decided advantage on either side. Often the Viscount was borne nearly to the ground but he invariably recovered, straightened himself up and vigorously renewed the conflict. Not a word was uttered now. The concentrated energies of the contestants were bent upon the strife, depriving them of the power of speech. Finally by a rapid movement Giovanni succeeded in tripping Solara, who fell with a crash, the young Italian coming down upon his prostrate body with great force and for an instant almost checking his respiration. Both were partially stunned by the fall and lay motionless. Massetti was the first to regain possession of his faculties. He half arose, placed his knees on old Pasquale's breast and, drawing a pistol, cocked it.

"What are you going to do?" gasped the under man, his terror giving him the power to speak.

"I am going to kill you, Pasquale Solara!" hissed the Viscount, between his set teeth.

"Murderer!" shrieked the shepherd, desperately, making a frantic struggle to rise, but not succeeding.

This ominous word, with all the terrible weight of meaning it conveyed, struck upon the young Italian's ear like a sound of-doom. A murderer? Yes, he would be a murderer, if he slew old Solara then and there, and branded with an assassin's dark crime he must forever resign all hope of possessing his beloved Zuleika, must abandon her to die of a broken heart! Perhaps, too, he would be seized, tried, condemned and meet a felon's fate upon the ignominious scaffold! True, Roman justice might be silenced with money, but he was a disowned and disinherited son, a penniless outcast! These thoughts brought him to a realization of the black depths of the yawning gulf into which he was about to plunge and made him hesitate. But a quick idea came to his relief—if he were to fight a duel with old Solara and kill him thus the Roman law would not pursue him, he would not be stamped with a murderer's crime! He would do it, he would fight him! Springing to his feet, he drew a second pistol, and, casting it upon the ground beside his astonished foe, said to him, speaking slowly and impressively:

"Pasquale Solara, I will give you a chance for your life! Rise, take that pistol and face me! We will fight!"

The shepherd arose with some difficulty; he was considerably bruised and had, besides, seriously strained one of his legs. Taking up the weapon, he cocked it and without a word, but with a look of demoniac ferocity and triumph upon his evil countenance, assumed a position about twenty paces distant from his opponent. Instantly both raised their pistols and fired. When the light smoke cleared away it became evident that neither of them had been hit. Old Solara cast his empty weapon from him with a curse and, producing a pair of long, keen-bladed knives, threw one of them towards the Viscount.

"You challenged me and I accepted!" he said, in a harsh tone. "Now I challenge you! Take that knife and fight me!"

Massetti hesitated, with a look of horror upon his countenance. A duel with knives! It was barbarous! It was worthy of the red savages of the American wilds!

"Take the knife, I say!" thundered old Solara. "Take it and face me, or by the canopy of heaven I will show you less mercy than you have been weak enough to show me! I will stab you to the heart where you stand!"

He advanced with his murderous weapon in his outstretched hand, having previously rolled up his sleeve and bared his brown, sinewy arm.

Massetti stooped and took up the knife from where it lay. He also bared his arm, nervously grasping the hilt of the weapon.

Pasquale Solara's eyes gleamed like those of a tiger seen through the darkness of a Hindoostan jungle. They had a terrible, a bloodthirsty gleam. The shepherd now felt sure of his ground. With a pistol he was nothing, with a knife he was a power! Giovanni could not cope with him; he would fall an easy victim to his skill and cunning!

The Viscount watched the old scoundrel with feverish anxiety, fully realizing what was passing through his mind. That Pasquale would vanquish him, kill him, he could not doubt, for he knew no more about fighting with a knife than an infant in its cradle. However, his courage did not desert him, and he resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible.

Seeing Giovanni take the knife and prepare for the combat, Solara bent partially forward and rushed upon him. The long, keen blades met with a flash of fire. The young Italian confined himself to acting upon the defensive, the utmost activity and watchfulness being required on his part to parry and ward off his opponent's skilful and incessant thrusts. The shepherd fought with the bewildering rapidity of the lightning's flash and seemed to be in a thousand different places at once so swiftly did he advance, retreat and spring aside. His excitement made him forget his hurts.

At length Massetti's arm became so strained and fatigued that it was impossible for him to hold out much longer. His hand was tightly clutched about the haft of his knife, but it was so benumbed that he could not feel the weapon. Still with the energy and resolution of despair he continued the unequal conflict, hoping against hope that some unexpected turn of affairs might give him the advantage.

Meanwhile old Solara, fiendishly confident, was steadily and surely closing upon him, narrowing the limit of his retreat after each blow. Finally he retreated no more, but began pressing his adversary backwards towards the chestnut grove, the while delivering blow after blow. Then he suddenly gave his wrist a dextrous twirl and Giovanni's knife was torn from his grasp, falling about ten feet away. Instantly the young man was forced to the ground and old Pasquale stood over him with his legs wide apart, firmly planted to give the death-dealing thrust. As Massetti lay his eye caught the glimmer of his own knife beyond the shepherd and slipping like a serpent between Solara's legs he seized it, sprang to his feet and, before Pasquale could recover from his surprise at this unlooked-for manoeuvre, buried the glittering blade in his breast. Solara reeled and fell upon the grass, where he lay bathed in blood.

"You have escaped me, Viscount Massetti!" he groaned.

Young Massetti could scarcely realize what had happened, what he had done, so miraculous did the result of this strange duel appear to his bewildered mind.

As he stood like one in a dream he heard a sound as of many feet. Hastily dashing into the chestnut grove, he looked back and saw old Solara surrounded by a group of Luigi Vampa's men.



CHAPTER XXV.

A VISIT TO THE REFUGE.

Among the details of the Count of Monte-Cristo's plan for the rehabilitation of Giovanni Massetti was a visit to Annunziata Solara at the Refuge in Civita Vecchia. This visit he made one morning in company with Zuleika and M. and Mme. Morrel. Madame de Rancogne was delighted to see the Count and cordially welcomed him and his party.

"So this handsome young lady is your daughter, Edmond," she said, seating herself beside Zuleika and taking her hand. "How rapidly time flies. To-day we are in the midst of the enjoyment of youth and to-morrow we are the middle-aged people of our locality. Then in another brief space we are the aged, after which comes death!"

Zuleika blushed at Helena's compliment to herself and looked at her curiously while she delivered the closing part of her speech. But the Countess of Monte-Cristo of the past was not of a sombre nature, and, smiling, she added:

"The most dazzling and enchanting side to the picture of youth is love! Has Zuleika, Count, ever experienced the tender passion? It will be exceedingly strange if she has not."

Monte-Cristo's daughter blushed again.

The Count smiled as he replied:

"Yes, Helena, Zuleika has experienced the crowning passion of life. She is betrothed to the Viscount Giovanni Massetti of Rome."

"What!" exclaimed Mme. de Rancogne, stricken with amazement and horror. "That Giovanni Massetti who has been disowned and disinherited by his father for the commission of one of the vilest and most dishonorable crimes known to the world?"

"The same!" answered Monte-Cristo, calmly.

Mme. de Rancogne was now more astounded than ever.

"You know this man's record and yet you allow him to win your daughter! Count, this is not like you! I cannot understand it!"

"Helena," returned Monte-Cristo, "this poor young man has been maligned, falsely accused by persons inimical to him."

The Superior of the Order of Sisters of Refuge slowly but firmly shook her head, looking the while at the Count and his daughter with an expression of deep sympathy and compassion upon her noble countenance.

"You have been deceived, imposed upon, Edmond," she rejoined. "There can be no doubt whatever as to the young man's terrible and damning guilt. Besides, my assertion admits of immediate verification and proof. Massetti's unfortunate victim, the beautiful peasant girl Annunziata Solara, is now an inmate of this institution whither she dragged herself when overcome by shame and suffering of the keenest description, seeking to find here an asylum and a cloister where prying eyes could not find her out and where the venomous tongue of scandal could not tear open her wounds and set them to bleeding afresh. She is a member of our Order, has devoted the rest of her days to the achievement of good actions and the raising up of the fallen and betrayed of her sex. Annunziata Solara is here, almost within sound of my voice, and will, though with reluctance I am convinced, confirm every word I have uttered relative to her cowardly and villainous abductor!"

"To hold an interview with this unfortunate creature is what has brought me here with Zuleika and my friends the Morrels," said the Count. "Of course, I wished to see you, Helena, and enjoy once again the pleasure of your society," he added, his agreeable smile accompanying his words.

The Superior bowed gracefully and arose.

"I can understand then your anxiety to see and speak with Annunziata at the earliest possible moment. Therefore, I will immediately summon her to this apartment where the desired interview can take place without delay."

As she uttered these words Mme. de Rancogne hastened from the salon, shortly afterwards returning with the former flower-girl of the Piazza del Popolo in Rome.

Annunziata stood for an instant in the centre of the apartment, gazing inquiringly at the visitors, for Mme. de Rancogne had not informed her of their business, preferring that Monte-Cristo in his wisdom and experience should conduct the interview and develop his wishes in his own peculiar fashion.

The Count and Maximilian gazed at old Pasquale Solara's daughter with considerable interest, but it was an interest altogether masculine. Valentine also looked at her attentively, with that searching, penetrating look one woman invariably casts upon another. As for Zuleika, her eyes literally devoured the peasant girl, flashing with what was not exactly hatred for a rival but rather an instinctive fear and distrust. She was well aware that Giovanni had flirted with this girl, had been enthralled by her physical charms, had almost yielded to her sway, and she felt a peculiar interest in the creature who had temporarily at least stolen the heart of her lover from her.

Annunziata had been greatly benefited by her sojourn in the calm and quiet Refuge. She had by a great and heroic exercise of her strength of mind put aside from her all thoughts of her lamentable history, of her suddenly clouded and terrible past. She had thoroughly abandoned herself to the discipline and duties of the Sisters of the Order of Refuge, and had sought with more or less success even to forget herself. Her unruffled life, passed in the continual doing of good, filled her with peacefulness and satisfaction, and for the first time in a long while she fully realized what it was to be perfectly contented and happy. In consequence her physical condition had improved, promptly responding to her mental ease. She had recovered the beauty she had lost during her confinement in the bandits' hut and her subsequent wanderings as a homeless, starving outcast. Her plumpness had also returned, and her glance had all the brightness and gayety that had formerly distinguished it. Still a general refinement had taken possession of her, and Annunziata was no longer the child of nature she had been when she lived in the romantic cabin in the forest.

Madame de Rancogne was the first to speak.

"Sister Annunziata," she said, "here are his Excellency the Count of Monte-Cristo, Zuleika his daughter, and M. and Mme. Morrel. Allow me to make you acquainted with them and to assure you that they are true friends of mine, firmly to be relied on. They wish to interrogate you in regard to a certain matter. You can answer their questions without fear and without the slightest hesitation. The Count of Monte-Cristo is the very soul of chivalry and honor!"

The Count bowed in acknowledgment of this well-turned speech and, addressing Annunziata, who, notwithstanding Mme. de Rancogne's assurances, began to tremble and feel distressed, said:

"Sister Annunziata, I wish to ask you certain important questions as your Superior has told you. I am pursuing an investigation that promises to be fruitful in the very best results of the highest possible good. Sister Annunziata, I wish your aid in clearing the record of an innocent man, one who has suffered as greatly as you have and for whom you can, therefore, feel pity and sympathy. I allude to the Viscount Giovanni Massetti."

The girl gave a sudden start and turned ghastly pale.

"The Viscount Giovanni Massetti?" repeated she, interrogatively, half doubting whether she could have heard the name aright.

"Yes," said Monte-Cristo, "the Viscount Giovanni Massetti, who has been falsely accused of having abducted you!"

"Falsely accused!" cried Annunziata. "Why, Signor Count of Monte-Cristo, the wretched young man is guilty of everything with which he has been charged, whether the charges were made by persons inimical to him or not!"

The visitors were still closely watching the peasant girl. They had expected she would say exactly what she had said and, therefore, were not in the slightest degree astonished or disconcerted. Her earnestness and the circumstance that she certainly ought to know the identity of her abductor were well-calculated to inspire confidence in her statements and to induce a belief in the guilt of the young Viscount Massetti.

Monte-Cristo answered Annunziata firmly but considerately.

"Sister," he said, "notwithstanding your belief that Massetti was your abductor, I know the contrary to be true and have in my possession indubitable proof of what I assert!"

Annunziata shook her head.

"The proof must, indeed, be conclusive that would shake my belief!" she said, with a slight trace of bitterness in her tone.

"It is conclusive!"

"But if young Massetti is innocent of my abduction and of my poor brother's murder, who then, in Heaven's name, is the guilty party?"

"Luigi Vampa!"

"Luigi Vampa?"

"Yes. He forced his way into your cabin on that eventful night, abducted you and afterwards shot your brother Lorenzo in the forest."

"You say you have indubitable proof of this. How was it obtained?"

"From a man named Peppino, who overheard all the details of the nefarious bargain and conspiracy entered into by the brigand chief and old Pasquale Solara."

"Pasquale Solara? My father! Oh! Signor Count, what do you mean?"

"Be calm, my child, and listen to me. Your father despicably sold you to Luigi Vampa for a large sum of money and they together so arranged the abduction that all suspicion would fall with crushing force upon the shoulders of the young Italian!"

Annunziata put her hand to her forehead and stood still, rooted to the spot by horror and amazement. She had no great love for her moody and morose father, who never had done anything calculated to inspire affection for him in the bosom of his daughter, but, at the same time, it seemed incredible and horrible to her that her parent should have been guilty of this unnatural behavior towards her, of this unmanly conduct with regard to an innocent guest who in all confidence was partaking of the hospitality his roof afforded. She looked at Monte-Cristo doubtingly and then at Mme. de Rancogne, who was smiling upon her encouragingly.

"As God is my judge," said she, solemnly, "I believe Giovanni Massetti to have been my abductor!"

"Of course," returned Monte-Cristo, "but you are in error!"

"I saw his face! Surely I ought to have been able to recognize that!"

"Certainly; but, I tell you, everything was so arranged as to deceive you into believing the young Italian the criminal, the despicable wretch who had failed to respect a woman's honor!"

"It may be as you assert, but I cannot rid myself of my firm and deep-rooted belief in the matter. I have forgiven the Viscount Massetti for the foul wrong he did me, but to the latest day of my earthly existence I shall believe him guilty!"

Suddenly fixing her eyes upon Zuleika with a gaze of bewildering intensity, Annunziata stood as if anxious to speak to her of some very important topic.

Monte-Cristo's daughter divined this, and, going to the former flower-girl, said to her:

"Is there anything I can do for you, Sister Annunziata? If so you have only to ask it!"

Annunziata laid her hand upon Zuleika's shoulder, asking, in a tone that notwithstanding all her efforts to control it was not a little unsteady and tremulous:

"Do you love him?—do you love the Viscount Massetti?"

"Yes," answered Zuleika, lowering her eyes beneath the intensity of the other's look.

"So I thought, but oh! daughter of a noble family, beware of the perfidious young man! He will not hesitate to deceive you as he deceived me! Then he will leave you to your fate as he left me to mine, and life-long sorrow and misery will be your portion!"

Zuleika gazed pityingly at the peasant girl.

"You loved him once, did you not?" she asked.

"Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not!" replied Annunziata. "I do not know! Certainly my heart spoke for him, but that may have been only friendly esteem! However, after the abduction and the horrible and disgraceful events that followed it, I grew to hate him with the bitterest description of hate! I have told you that I have forgiven him and it was the truth. I have forgiven and am endeavoring to forget him!"

There was a suspicious glitter in the girl's eyes as she spoke, something that hinted of the presence of tears, but the glitter passed away and, turning to Mme. de Rancogne, she said:

"Are your guests through with questioning me, Madame the Superior?"

Mme. de Rancogne glanced inquiringly at Monte-Cristo, who nodded his head affirmatively.

"The interview is concluded," replied Helena, "and now, if you so desire, you can return to your apartment."

Annunziata, more affected and agitated by what she had just passed through than she cared to admit, bowed to the visitors and the Superior and hastily quitted the salon.

"Poor girl! she remains perfectly unconvinced!" said Monte-Cristo, after her departure.

"And she is right!" rejoined Mme. de Rancogne, warmly. "I have heard all the details of her story and the chain of evidence against the Viscount Giovanni Massetti is altogether complete. To doubt his guilt would be sheer idiocy!"

After a sojourn of a few hours longer at the Refuge, Monte-Cristo and his party returned to Rome to go actively to work in Massetti's cause.



CHAPTER XXVI.

VAMPA AND MONTE-CRISTO.

After his fearful and exhausting duel with old Pasquale Solara in which he had been so nearly vanquished and so signally favored by Fate, the Viscount Massetti dragged himself rather than ran through the chestnut grove by the roadside, pausing now and then to glance back through the trees and note what was taking place among Vampa's bandits. His wounded antagonist was evidently unconscious, for the brigands were bending over him, some of them seeming to be engaged in endeavors to restore him to his senses. Another circumstance tending to confirm this supposition was the absence of pursuit, for had the shepherd been able to give even the most fragmentary information relative to the encounter, Vampa's men would have immediately devoted their attention to a search for his successful assailant, and in Giovanni's present condition of exhaustion his capture could not have been doubtful.

The young Italian did not waste a moment, but made his way towards Rome as rapidly as he was able, though his progress was necessarily toilsome and painful in the extreme. Having at length reached the bank of a small brook at a safe distance from the scene of the conflict, he washed the dust and sweat from his face, and held his benumbed hand in the cool, limpid water until the blood resumed its normal circulation. Then he arranged his torn and disordered garments so as not to attract too much attention from the curious pedestrians he would be sure to meet on the outskirts of the city, resuming his journey strengthened and refreshed. Contrary to his expectations he eventually gained the Hotel de France without exciting any special observation or comment. Once in his own apartment he carefully locked the door and, casting himself upon his bed, breathed freely for the first time since old Solara had fallen by his hand.

His thoughts, however, were not altogether of a reassuring nature. He had taken an Italian's vengeance upon the despicable old Pasquale Solara, who certainly merited all he had received, but how would Monte-Cristo look at the affair when he learned of it as he most assuredly would when he began his campaign against Vampa, if not before? Undoubtedly with strong disapprobation and displeasure. The Count had cautioned him to keep out of sight, to restrain his impetuosity, and he had done neither. On the contrary he had shown himself to the shepherd, declared his identity and assumed the responsibility of dealing with him, though, to be sure, he had given him a chance to defend himself. If Solara was dead, if he had expired without making any revelation, his secret was secure and even Monte-Cristo could not unearth it, but would not the death of old Pasquale deprive the Count of a most important witness, a most important factor in his rehabilitation? Perhaps so, perhaps not, for it was by no means certain that Monte-Cristo could force Solara to confess and make at least partial and tardy amends for his atrocious misdeeds. It was highly probable that Annunziata's wretched father, even if brought to bay, would persist in preserving a stony and unbroken silence, would make no admissions whatever. Taking this view of the matter the Viscount felt relieved and, composing himself on his couch, yielded to the influence of extreme fatigue and fell asleep. His slumber was profound and dreamless. Exactly how long he slept he knew not, but meanwhile an event as unexpected as it was portentous occurred almost within earshot of where he lay, an event brought about by his rash and inconsiderate action of that morning.

Monte-Cristo's salon was opposite to Massetti's chamber, a wide corridor separating the two apartments. It was late in the afternoon and the Count, seated at his desk, was pondering over his plans in relation to the Viscount. Matters had not progressed as swiftly as he had hoped. Besides, much further delay seemed inevitable. Maximilian, of course, could do nothing, for the present at least, and Valentine's ability to be of use was limited to encouraging Zuleika and exercising a proper degree of surveillance over the lovers when such surveillance was possible. Peppino and Beppo, too, were comparatively useless, though by careful and well-directed inquiries they had ascertained that Luigi Vampa and his band had changed their quarters from the old rendezvous, locating in a fastness that could not be approached without great difficulty and danger. None of the brigands now visited Rome and even Vampa himself seemed distrustful of the future. According to the intelligence gathered by Peppino and Beppo he constantly went about in various disguises that defied detection, studiously avoiding all his accustomed haunts. With regard to the brigand chief's actions Monte-Cristo could entertain but one of two opinions—either he was filled with remorse for his shameful conduct towards poor Annunziata Solara and for his complicity with old Pasquale in bringing the innocent Viscount under suspicion, which was doubtful, or he was afraid that Roman justice stimulated by young Massetti and such friends as he still possessed would overtake him, which was the more probable. The Count had not hoped for much from Annunziata Solara, though he had calculated somewhat on the effect upon her of his assurance that he possessed conclusive proof of Giovanni's innocence. His recent interview with the girl, however, had established the fact that she firmly believed the Viscount guilty, and it was fair to presume that she would retain her belief in the face of everything with all the proverbial obstinacy of woman. Besides, after all, what was his conclusive proof? Simply the unsupported assertions of a former member of Vampa's band, who in making them had clearly been actuated by a desire of wreaking personal vengeance upon old Pasquale Solara!

The Count was not a little discouraged, but his own conviction of the truth of Peppino's statement was as strong as ever and, notwithstanding all the apparently insurmountable obstacles, he did not doubt that he would eventually find some way to force Vampa and the shepherd into a full confirmation of every diabolical detail related by the ex-bandit in the cell of the police poste in Paris.

As he sat thus communing with his sombre thoughts and reflecting that the delay might stretch out into many months, a knock was heard at his door and in response to his permission Peppino entered the salon.

A glance at the man's pale and agitated countenance was sufficient to tell Monte-Cristo that something unusual had happened.

"Well," said he, gazing keenly at him, "what is it?"

The man looked hastily about the apartment and, having satisfied himself that his master was alone, came close to him, bending down and whispering in his ear:

"Signor Count, a strange visitor is below, asking to see you. He is garbed like a Roman noble and his face is made up with paints and cosmetics like that of an actor on the stage of a theatre. Still, I think I have pierced his disguise and that he is no less a personage than Luigi Vampa himself!"

"Ah!" said the Count, rising, with a smile of satisfaction. "Heaven grant that you are correct! If Vampa is here, his visit will simplify matters."

"But you do not mean to see the brigand chief, do you, Signor Count?" said Peppino, in a startled tone.

"Why, pray, should I not see him when for so long I have been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to meet him?" asked Monte-Cristo, in amazement.

"Because," answered the Italian, with an unmistakable display of fear, "he may have divined your mission to Rome and his business with you here to-day may be assassination!"

Monte Cristo laughed heartily.

"My good fellow," said he, in a reassuring tone, "dismiss your childish terrors. Vampa will not dare even to attempt to harm me! Show the mysterious visitor up and let the problem of his identity be solved!"

"I know your power over Vampa, Signor Count," returned Peppino, hesitating, "but still in this peculiar instance it may fail you!"

"Pshaw!" said the Count, impatiently. "I tell you I do not fear Vampa. Show him up at once."

Peppino very reluctantly quitted the salon, soon returning with the suspicious visitor.

Monte-Cristo advanced to meet the new comer, who silently pointed to Peppino, motioning towards the door. The Count nodded to the ex-bandit and with a slow step he left the room.

Although Vampa was carefully disguised and even elegantly dressed in the fashionable attire of the Roman aristocracy, Monte-Cristo, like Peppino, had no difficulty whatever in recognizing him.

"Well, Luigi Vampa!" said he, facing his visitor and calmly folding his arms as soon as they were alone. "What do you want with me?"

The brigand chief did not seem either disconcerted or surprised even in the slightest degree. He boldly returned his host's gaze and said:

"I knew you would recognize me at once, for I am well aware of your extraordinary keenness and penetration, Signor Count, but, to confess the truth, my disguise was not intended to deceive you; its sole object was to secure me safe entrance to and exit from Rome which of late has become dangerous for men in my line of industry!"

The Count smiled in his peculiar way.

"What do you want with me, Luigi Vampa?" he repeated. "Your errand must be of vast importance since you have taken so much trouble to execute it!"

"It is of vast importance, Signor Count. This morning one of the most efficient members of my band, old Pasquale Solara, was attacked and severely wounded by your protege the Viscount Giovanni Massetti!"

"Old Solara attacked and severely wounded by the Viscount Massetti? Impossible!"

The Count was greatly disconcerted by this intelligence; he could not conceal his chagrin. The Viscount's rashness and impetuosity would ruin all!

"What I say is true," continued Vampa, "and I have come to you to protest. You must restrain this Viscount Massetti, this reckless madman! He professes to have a grudge against Pasquale Solara and there is no telling to what length he may go if you do not control him. Had Pasquale been able to speak when discovered lying bathed in blood upon the highway by some of the members of my band, young Massetti would have been pursued, captured and made to pay for his murderous assault with his life; but it was only later, when brought into my presence, that he became sufficiently conscious to relate what had happened. Signor Count, I wish to respect your friends, but they on their part must respect me and my band!"

"Luigi Vampa," replied Monte-Cristo, sternly, "you say that young Massetti has a grudge against old Pasquale Solara! What you seek to belittle with the name of grudge is simply just indignation for an outrage such as human beings rarely commit! This you know!—you to whom Solara basely sold his daughter!—you who plotted with the aged scoundrel that the charge of abduction and murder might fall upon the Viscount's innocent shoulders when you, Luigi Vampa, were the guilty man!"

The brigand chief started and grew pale beneath the paint and cosmetics with which his visage was thickly coated.

"You have been deceived, Signor Count!" he stammered, taken at a disadvantage, but nevertheless speaking guardedly and endeavoring to put on a bold front. "The girl herself, Annunziata Solara, will swear to you that the Viscount Giovanni Massetti was her abductor and the author of her ruin!"

"Yes," replied Monte-Cristo, bitterly, "she will and does say so, for she has been completely blinded by the cunning, fiendish stratagems you resorted to, aided and abetted by that infamous miscreant old Pasquale Solara, for whom a lingering death upon the rack of the ancient Spanish Inquisition would not be a sufficient punishment!"

"You speak very confidently, Signor Count," said Vampa, resuming his cool self-possession. "Pray tell me how you are going to prove all this?"

"I should be foolish, indeed, did I do so," replied Monte-Cristo, seeing the brigand chief's trap and adroitly avoiding being caught in it. "However, suffice it to say that I can and will make good all I have asserted! Even Annunziata Solara herself shall be thoroughly convinced!"

"Signor Count," said Vampa, pleadingly, "we have long been good friends, have long understood each other perfectly. Do not let the idle tales designing persons have poured into your ears destroy that friendship and that understanding!"

"I have heard no idle tales from designing persons," retorted the Count. "What I have heard was a plain and simple statement of the truth. I know how old Solara summoned you with his signal whistle, how you bargained with him for his beautiful daughter and how you finally bought her of him! I know how you abducted the girl while her infamous father waited outside the cabin with a torch, how you bore her away in your arms through the forest, murdering her brother and in turn encountering my son Esperance and the Viscount Massetti. I know how you carried her to the hut you had prepared, how you kept her a close prisoner there guarded by members of your band until your shameful object was accomplished! I know how you wrote that letter signed Tonio which was intended to influence Annunziata's belief in the Viscount's guilt, and I know how old Solara secreted it where his daughter afterwards found and read it! Now, Luigi Vampa, are you satisfied? You said a moment ago that we have long understood each other. I hope there will be no misunderstanding on your part when I tell you that I mean to force both you and old Solara to confess your crimes and make reparation for them as far as possible!"

"Then you declare war against us?" cried the brigand chief.

"I do!" answered Monte-Cristo, coldly.

"Then in my own name and in that of Pasquale Solara, I defy you, Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte-Cristo!"

He backed towards the door as if afraid the Count would attack him. When he reached it, he turned, flung it open and stepped into the corridor, instantly finding himself in the grasp of Peppino and Beppo, who at once handed him over to a squad of policemen, the officer in charge of whom said:

"I arrest you, Luigi Vampa! Follow me!"



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE BANDITS' REPRISALS.

Monte-Cristo was astounded when he saw Luigi Vampa arrested by the Roman policeman and his squad; his first thought was that Peppino, unwilling to let slip so fair an opportunity to obtain vengeance, had betrayed the brigand chief to the authorities; this idea was apparently confirmed by the part the two ex-bandits had taken in their former leader's capture; hence after the officers and their prisoner had departed, he turned fiercely upon Peppino and said, in a tone of anger:

"This is fine work for one of my servants to do, especially one so trusted as you!"

"Signor Count," answered Peppino, humbly, "you are mistaken. I had no hand in it whatever save obeying the order of the officer in command of the police."

"Indeed!" cried the Count, incredulously.

"Yes," continued Peppino, in the same humble voice, "and Beppo here is equally innocent. The officer tracked Vampa to the hotel and was informed that I had conducted him into your presence. He thereupon sent for me, directing me without further ado to take Beppo, who chanced to be in my company, and seize the chief, who was personally unknown to him, the instant he quitted your salon. I trust your Excellency will pardon us, as we could do nothing but obey."

"In that case," said Monte-Cristo, "no blame attaches to either of you, but, nevertheless, Vampa's arrest at this critical juncture will seriously interfere with my projected operations."

The police had conducted matters very quietly; still, the tramp of many feet in the corridor had awakened the Viscount and filled him with terror. Knowing the unparalleled audacity of the bandits, he at once jumped to the conclusion that a body of them had entered Rome and taken possession of the Hotel de France with the object of seizing upon him as the murderer of old Pasquale Solara, who, he did not doubt, was dead. When the tramping feet, which the Count and Vampa were too much engrossed to hear, paused in front of his very door he became fixed in this conclusion and sprang from his bed in wild alarm. He looked hastily around him for some avenue of escape, but there was none. If the brigands were without he was trapped and would speedily be in their hands. He listened with the utmost anxiety, expecting every instant that his door would be forced and his relentless foes come thronging into the chamber. No such movement, however, was made. A deathlike silence prevailed. What was the meaning of all this? What was taking place or about to occur? If the men in the corridor were not Luigi Vampa's bandits, who were they? The Viscount lost himself in a bewildering maze of conjectures. Make a personal examination and satisfy himself he dare not. In the midst of his conjectures he heard a door open directly across the corridor and knew it was Monte-Cristo's. Then a voice of stern command broke the silence, but what was uttered he could not distinguish, though he fancied he made out the ominous word "arrest," which was almost immediately succeeded by a renewal of the tramping of feet. This sound speedily died away and silence again prevailed. Young Massetti was more perplexed than ever. He could make nothing out of the knotty problem presented to him for solution. Suddenly a thought struck him that brought beads of cold perspiration out upon his forehead. Monte-Cristo had been arrested and carried off to a Roman prison! Then he heard the Count's well-known voice angrily addressing some one and this alarming thought vanished as quickly as it had come to him. The party arrested, if an arrest had been made, was, therefore, not Monte-Cristo but some one else, some one who had come from the Count's salon. Who could it possibly be? Maximilian Morrel? No, the idea was absurd, for what had the young Frenchman done to provoke arrest? Finally, unable longer to endure the uncertainty and suspense, the Viscount cautiously opened his door and glanced out into the corridor. His eyes rested upon Monte-Cristo, Peppino and Beppo. The former saw him and at once came to him.

"What has happened?" demanded Massetti, eagerly.

"Luigi Vampa was here and has been taken away a prisoner by the police," answered the Count.

"Luigi Vampa!" cried the young Italian, in amazement.

"Yes, Luigi Tampa," returned Monte-Cristo, his brow clouding.

"What brought him to the Hotel de France?"

"He came to complain of you!"

"Of me?"

"I have said so."

"And you caused him to be arrested?"

"I did not. His arrest was due entirely to his own rashness. The police tracked him hither and apprehended him as he quitted my apartment."

While speaking Monte-Cristo made his way into Giovanni's chamber. Closing the door behind him, he stood gazing at the Viscount with a gloomy air.

"Giovanni Massetti," said he, in a slow, measured tone, "you have disregarded my injunctions and by your impetuosity put all my plans in jeopardy! You did wrong, very wrong, in attacking old Pasquale Solara this morning!"

"I am keenly sensible of it now, after calm reflection," answered the Viscount, penitently. "But still you must make some allowance for me. I came suddenly upon the shepherd and my indignation and desire for vengeance so mastered me at the sight of him that I could not control myself. Nevertheless I gave him a chance for his life. We fought a desperate duel and he was wounded, but whether mortally or not it is impossible for me to say, as Vampa's men made their appearance immediately after his fall, and I was forced into precipitate flight."

"Should Solara die," said Monte-Cristo, moodily, "you will have deprived us of a most important witness, for I calculated upon compelling him to speak, to disclose every detail of the infamous conspiracy against you. But like you I do not know his present condition, as Vampa did not vouchsafe me any information upon that head. I can only hope that he is not seriously wounded and will recover."

"I am singularly unfortunate," said the Viscount, humbly. "Everything I do seems to be wrong."

"Because you are governed by impulse alone and do not wait for your calmer judgment to come to your aid," replied Monte-Cristo. Then he added, firmly: "Giovanni Massetti, either you must submit wholly to me for the future, be guided entirely by my wishes, or I will be compelled to leave you to your fate! I need not say that I shall abandon you very reluctantly, but abandon you I must unless you cease to trammel my efforts in your behalf!"

The young Italian seized his benefactor's hand convulsively.

"Your Excellency," he exclaimed, supplicatingly, "do not abandon me, do not leave me to my fate at this critical juncture! I will yield you blind and implicit submission and obedience! For the future I will do nothing, take not even the slightest, most unimportant step without your direct authorization or express command!"

"It is well, Giovanni," said the Count, evidently much relieved to find his ardent protege so tractable. "I will continue the work I have begun and also endeavor to bring it to a speedy and successful conclusion. The arrest of Vampa and the wounding of old Solara have complicated matters to a certain extent, but a brief time, I trust, will suffice to straighten out the complications and tangles, and then the result will be happiness for all of us, the richest possible reward!"

"God grant it!" cried Massetti, fervently.

"Now," said the Count, "you must not quit the Hotel de France even for a moment without my permission! Do you promise me that?"

"I not only promise it, I swear it!" exclaimed the Viscount, lifting his eyes and his right hand towards Heaven.

"It is well," repeated Monte-Cristo, joyously, and turning he left Massetti's chamber.

It had been planned that the Count should take Zuleika out riding the following morning, but a desire to know what had become of Luigi Vampa and what the authorities proposed to do in his case prevented Monte-Cristo from fulfilling his promise to his daughter. He, however, determined not to deprive Zuleika of the pleasure she anticipated from her drive and, therefore, when the barouche and its spirited horses were brought to the hotel door installed Peppino in the driver's seat with the faithful Ali to act as an additional guard and protector.

Zuleika, after bidding her father a tender farewell, was assisted by him into the elegant vehicle and Ali drove off, managing the prancing and mettlesome steeds, with all the dash and skill of a veteran Paris coachman.

They passed along the Corso, which as usual was crowded with splendid equipages and gay promenaders, finally making their way to the vast and beautiful Piazza del Popolo, which presented even a more animated and enlivening scene than the Corso. The elegant equipages were there supplemented by superbly mounted cavaliers and the various paths were alive with handsome girls and their gallants, while interspersed amid the better classes were gorgeously attired peasants of both sexes, some simply idling about, others vending small wares and flowers.

Tiring at length of the ordinary sights of Rome, Zuleika directed Ali to drive a short distance into the country. He obeyed with considerable reluctance for he was well aware of the dangers to be encountered in the environs of the city, and Peppino, on his side, was also uneasy, though he did not venture to protest against what he considered a most censurable caprice of his youthful mistress.

However, they drove along for several miles without the slightest incident occurring to warrant the fears of Ali and Peppino or trouble the serenity of Zuleika. The young girl enjoyed the open country, with its stately trees, verdure and refreshing odors, immensely, and internally congratulated herself on having varied her programme by leaving dusty Rome behind her for a time.

Meanwhile Ali, with the habitual fatalism of his nation, had resigned himself in advance to whatever might happen and drove straight onward with his eyes impassibly fixed upon the horses. Not so with Peppino; the wily and well-posted Italian was constantly on the alert, scanning every thicket, clump of trees or turn of the road with a searching look long before they came to it; although nothing suspicious had as yet met his gaze, he was not by any means either satisfied or reassured.

Finally they approached a small roadside inn and Zuleika, complaining of thirst, directed the barouche to be stopped and Peppino to dismount from his seat, enter the inn and procure some wine for her. Peppino made a grimace at this command, but had not the courage to explain to Monte-Cristo's daughter that in obeying her he ran the risk of encountering some of his old comrades who might prove too inquisitive. He slowly clambered down from the barouche and with an exceedingly rueful countenance made his way into the inn. He had not been gone an instant when he suddenly reappeared, running towards the barouche and uttering loud cries of alarm. Half a dozen rough-looking men pursued him and before he could reach the vehicle he was caught. Simultaneously another party of ruffians issued from the inn, catching the horses by the bridle as Ali was about to drive off.

"Not so fast, my sable friend!" said one of the men. "We must make the acquaintance of your beautiful young mistress!"

Zuleika sat speechless, frozen with terror. Ali raised his whip to strike the ruffian who had spoken so flippantly of Monte-Cristo's daughter, but the indignant mute was instantly overpowered and dragged to the ground.

Meanwhile the men who held Peppino in their clutches were examining him closely.

"I would swear," said one of them, "that this is our old comrade, Peppino, who ran away from us so unceremoniously, taking with him all he could lay his hands on!"

"It is Peppino," put in another. "I know him in spite of his stained face and livery! By the Holy Virgin!" he added, "I know the livery, too! It's Monte-Cristo's!"

"Then the barouche and horses are Monte-Cristo's also!" said the first speaker. "No doubt, too, that young woman there is a member of the Count's family. We followed Peppino for a little fun, comrades, but have fallen upon a slice of rare luck! Monte-Cristo is responsible for Vampa's arrest yesterday, for the chief was taken as he left his room Now we can make reprisals!"

"Excellent!" cried another of the band. "We can make reprisals and obtain at least one valuable hostage for Vampa's safety! Signora," he said to the terrified Zuleika, "who are you?"

The poor girl, commanding her voice as best she could, replied, with some dignity:

"I am Zuleika, daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo! In his name I demand that you instantly release us!"

"So!" said the man, turning to his delighted companions. "His daughter! We can now count on Vampa's safety without the shadow of a doubt!"

The leader of the bandits now came from the inn; upon being informed of the important capture his men had made he rubbed his hands in glee. Turning to his lieutenants, he said:

"Have a guard placed in the barouche beside Monte-Cristo's daughter and let another comrade drive the equipage to the rendezvous of the band. As for the colored driver, let him go back to Rome on foot and carry the news to his master with the compliments of Vampa's men!"

"What shall be done with Peppino?" asked one of the lieutenants.

"Hang him to the nearest tree!" answered the leader, but, immediately taking a second thought, he added: "No. Keep him! Perhaps Monte-Cristo places some value on the scoundrel and it might not be bad policy to retain him as an additional hostage!"

Peppino who had been listening intently to the leader's words heaved a deep sigh of relief. He would certainly experience rough treatment, but at least his life was safe. He, therefore, submitted to be bound without a murmur and even smiled as he was being led away.

The leader's commands regarding Zuleika and the equipage were promptly obeyed, and soon Monte-Cristo's daughter was a close prisoner in a rocky cell of the bandits' subterranean fastness.

Ali, as soon as set free, started for Rome to give the alarm.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE RAID ON THE BANDITS.

When Ali reached the Hotel de France and dragged himself to his master's apartment, which was not until quite late in the afternoon, his condition was truly deplorable. Footsore and ready to drop from extreme fatigue, he staggered like a drunken man. He was thickly covered with dust and profuse perspiration made his dark skin glisten. The faithful mute at once threw himself at the Count's feet, embracing his knees and in his marvellous pantomime eloquently entreating pardon.

Monte-Cristo, who was suffering torment because of his beloved daughter's prolonged absence, instantly divined that some terrible accident had befallen her and grew almost wild with grief and apprehension. Raising Ali up, he said to him in a broken, anxious voice:

"Tell me what has occurred without circumlocution or delay, and tell me all!"

The Nubian made a profound salaam in token of submission and obedience. Then he proceeded, in his own peculiar mode of narrating events with which Monte-Cristo was so thoroughly familiar and which in this instance he translated only too readily and unerringly, to recount the particulars of the fatal drive into the outskirts of the city and of the capture of Zuleika, Peppino and the equipage by the brigands.

Monte-Cristo sat for an instant after he had concluded like one stupefied, so utterly overwhelmed was he by the unexpected and distracting intelligence. Then he sprang to his feet and began pacing the room, muttering as he walked:

"So the wretches have seized my daughter and servant by way of reprisals and intend to hold them as hostages for the safety of Luigi Vampa! What is to be done? Let me think, let me think!"

He placed his hand to his forehead and accelerated his step, passing back and forth with such feverish rapidity that even Ali, impassible as he was by nature, showed alarm, dreading the effect of all this fearful and exhausting excitement upon his adored master to save whom from the slightest trouble or grief he would have freely and unhesitatingly given his life. Monte-Cristo continued to mutter:

"Vampa is a prisoner, closely confined in a dungeon of the Castle of St. Angelo. He is to be tried for his many crimes, among which I have caused to be included the abduction of Annunziata Solara and his attempt to blacken the fair fame of the Viscount Massetti. His conviction and punishment as a bandit may be accepted as certain, whatever may be the fate of the other counts in the black indictment against him, for hosts of those whom he has robbed and maltreated are to testify, and the Roman authorities have for some reason suddenly become his deadly, implacable foes; they will show him no mercy! But the rest of the infamous band, what is to be done with them? Nothing, absolutely nothing, so far as I have been able to learn! Why? Possibly because the police fear to attack the brigands in their stronghold! But I will change this item of the programme—yes, I will change it! I will at once to Cardinal Monti, complain that my daughter has been seized by the bandits and offer with the aid of Captain Morrel to lead a detachment of soldiery against them. Animated by Maximilian and myself, the military will show courage for once. The result cannot be doubtful. We shall capture the whole band, together with their famous fastness, and rescue Zuleika. Peppino, too, shall be delivered. I will not take Massetti with me—no, he is too rash and might imperil the success of the undertaking—no, I will not take him, I will not even inform him of what I propose doing. The Cardinal will scarcely venture to refuse me. Should he hesitate, however, I will shame him into consenting, I will threaten him with invoking the aid of the French minister! No, he will not refuse me! Now for the trial of my power! Oh! Zuleika, my darling child, I will save you, I will save you!"

Hastily putting on his hat and throwing a light cloak about him, the Count of Monte-Cristo departed on his mission, a mission certainly altogether characteristic of the marvellous man.

Cardinal Monti received him cordially, heard his complaint and, after demurring slightly, accepted his offer to lead the soldiers against the redoubtable brigands, agreeing to place two hundred of the Swiss Guard properly officered and equipped at the disposal of himself and Captain Morrel. It was decided that the expedition should start from the Castle of St. Angelo at ten o'clock that night and should be guided by a trusty peasant, then in the Cardinal's service, who professed to know the exact location of the bandits' retreat and the safest route to it.

These preliminaries satisfactorily settled, Monte-Cristo, his heart overflowing with joy, immediately returned to the Hotel de France to notify M. Morrel and to make his preparations for the coming campaign. Upon being informed of Zuleika's seizure by the outlaws and of the part her father wished him to take in her deliverance, Maximilian instantly consented, only too happy to have such a signal opportunity of serving his benefactor. Zuleika's misfortune, however, distressed him greatly.

"Does Valentine know of your daughter's capture?" he asked of the Count.

"No," answered Monte-Cristo, "and I must ask you not to tell her until after the result of the expedition is known. I wish to keep the whole matter a close secret lest young Massetti should hear of it and mar our plans by his usual hot-headedness. With this view I have already instructed Ali, the only person save yourself in the Hotel de France who is aware of the terrible blow that has fallen upon me, to refrain from communicating the intelligence to any one. It is better thus, for the brigands undoubtedly have spies in Rome at this time and the utmost caution is advisable."

M. Morrel readily assented to the wisdom of the Count's policy of complete silence, and the twain separated to quietly prepare for the night's perilous and exciting adventure.

At half-past nine o'clock Monte-Cristo and Maximilian entered the court-yard of the grim Castle of St. Angelo, where the detachment of the Swiss Guard was already drawn up under arms awaiting orders. The Count wore a half military dress and had a sword at his side, while his friend was clad in the full uniform of a Captain in the Army of France and similarly provided with the regulation weapon. Both he and Monte-Cristo had a couple of pistols in their belts, freshly and carefully loaded.