The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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      “We do.”

      “You are mistaken, he will not advance two leagues into the interior of France without being followed, tracked, and caught like a wild beast.”

      “My dear fellow, the emperor is at this moment on the way to Grenoble, on the 10th or 12th he will be at Lyons, and on the 20th or 25th at Paris.”

      “The population will rise.”

      “Yes, to go and meet him.”

      “He has but a handful of men with him, and armies will be despatched against him.”

      “Yes, to escort him into the capital. Really, my dear Gérard, you are but a child; you think yourself well informed because a telegraph has told you three days after the landing, ‘The usurper has landed at Cannes with several men. He is pursued.’ But where is he? what is he doing? You do not know well, and in this way they will pursue him to Paris without drawing a trigger.”

      “Grenoble and Lyons are faithful cities, and will oppose to him an impassable barrier.”

      “Grenoble will open her gates to him with enthusiasm—all Lyons will hasten to welcome him. Believe me, we are as well informed as you, and our police is as good as your own. Would you like a proof of it? well, you wished to conceal your journey from me, and yet I knew of your arrival half an hour after you had passed the barrier. You gave your direction to no one but your postilion, yet I have your address, and in proof I am here the very instant you are going to sit at table. Ring, then, if you please, for a second knife, fork and plate, and we will dine together.”

      “Indeed!” replied Villefort, looking at his father with astonishment, “you really do seem very well informed.”

      “Eh? the thing is simple enough. You who are in power have only the means that money produces—we who are in expectation have those which devotion prompts.”

      “Devotion!” said Villefort, with a sneer.

      “Yes, devotion, for that is, I believe, the phrase for hopeful ambition.”

      And Villefort’s father extended his hand to the bell-rope, to summon the servant whom his son had not called. Villefort arrested his arm.

      “Wait, my dear father,” said the young man, “one other word.”

      “Say it.”

      “However ill-conducted the royalist police is, they yet know one terrible thing.”

      “What is that?”

      “The description of the man who, on the morning of the day when General Quesnel disappeared, presented himself at his house.”

      “Oh, the admirable police have found out that, have they? And what may be that description?”

      “Brown complexion; hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, black; blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the chin; rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honour in his button-hole, a hat with wide brim, and a cane.”

      “Ah! ah! that is it, is it?” said Noirtier, “and why, then, have they not laid hands on the individual?”

      “Because yesterday, or the day before, they lost sight of him at the corner of the Rue Coq-Héron.”

      “Didn’t I say your police was good for nothing?”

      “Yes, but still it may lay hands on him.”

      “True,” said Noirtier, looking carelessly around him, “true, if this individual were not warned as he is;” and he added with a smile, “he will consequently change looks and costume.”

      At these words he rose, and put off his frock-coat and cravat, went towards a table on which lay all the requisites of the toilette for his son, lathered his face, took a razor, and, with a firm hand, cut off the whiskers that might have compromised him and gave the police so decided a trace. Villefort watched him with alarm, not divested of admiration.

      His whiskers cut off, Noirtier gave another turn to his hair, took, instead of his black cravat, a coloured neckerchief, which lay at the top of an open portmanteau, put on in lieu of his blue and high-buttoned frock-coat a coat of Villefort’s, of dark brown, and sloped away in front, tried on before the glass a narrow-brimmed hat of his son’s, which appeared to fit him perfectly, and leaving his cane in the corner where he had deposited it, he made to whistle in his powerful hand a small bamboo switch, which the dandy deputy used when he walked, and which aided in giving him that easy swagger, which was one of his principal characteristics.

      “Well,” he said, turning towards his wondering son, when this disguise was completed,—” well, do you think your police will recognise me now?”

      “No, father,” stammered Villefort, “at least, I hope not.”

      “And now, my dear boy,” continued Noirtier, “I rely on your prudence to remove all the things which I leave in your care.”

      “Oh, rely on me,” said Villefort.

      “Yes, yes! and now I believe you are right, and that you have really saved my life, but be assured I will return the obligation to you hereafter.”

      Villefort shook his head.

      “You are not convinced yet?”

      “I hope, at least, that you may be mistaken.”

      “Shall you see the king again?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Would you pass in his eyes for a prophet?”

      “Prophets of evil are not in favour at the court, father.”

      “True, but some day they do them justice; and supposing a second restoration, you would then pass for a great man.”

      “Well, what should I say to the king?”

      “Say this to him:—‘Sire, you are deceived as to the feeling in France, as to the opinions of the towns, and the prejudices of the army; he whom in Paris you call the Corsican ogre, who at Nevers is styled the usurper, is already saluted as Bonaparte at Lyons, and emperor at Grenoble. You think he is tracked, pursued, captured: he is advancing as rapidly as his own eagles. The soldiers you believe dying with hunger, worn out with fatigue, ready to desert, increase like atoms of snow about the rolling ball which hastens onward. Sire, go, leave France to its real master, to him who did not buy, but acquired it—go, sire, not that you incur any risk, for your adversary is powerful enough to show you mercy, but because it would be humiliating for a grandson of Saint Louis to owe his life to the man of Arcola, Marengo, Austerlitz.’ Tell him this, Gérard, or, rather, tell him nothing. Keep your journey a secret, do not boast of what you have come to Paris to do, or have done; return with all speed, enter Marseilles at night, and your house by the back-door, and there remain, quiet, submissive, secret, and, above all, inoffensive, for this time I swear to you we shall act like powerful men who know their enemies. Go, my son—go, my dear Gérard, and by your obedience to my paternal orders, or, if you prefer it, friendly counsels, we will keep you in your place. This will be,” added Noirtier, with a smile, “one means by which you may a second time СКАЧАТЬ