The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ a moment,” said Villefort, turning over the leaves of a register.

      “I have it!—a sailor, who was about to marry a young Catalan girl. I recollect now, it was a very serious charge.”

      “How so?”

      “You know that when he left here he was taken to the Palais de Justice.”

      “Well?”

      “I made my report to the authorities at Paris, and a week after he was carried off.”

      “Carried off!” said Morrel. “What can they have done with him?”

      “Oh! he has been taken to Fenestrelles, to Pignerol, or to the Iles Sainte-Marguerite. Some fine morning he will return to assume the command of your vessel.”

      “Come when he will, it shall be kept for him. But how is it he is not already returned? It seems to me the first care of government should be to set at liberty those who have suffered for their adherence to it.”

      “Do not be too hasty, M. Morrel,” replied Villefort. “The order of imprisonment came from high authority, and the order for his liberation must proceed from the same source: and, as Napoleon has scarcely been reinstated a fortnight, the letters have not yet been forwarded.”

      “But,” said Morrel, “is there no way of expediting all these formalities of releasing him from his arrest?”

      “There has been no arrest.”

      “How?”

      “It is sometimes essential to government to cause a man’s disappearance without leaving any traces, so that no written forms or documents may defeat their wishes.”

      “It might be so under the Bourbons; but at present———”

      “It has always been the same, my dear Morrel, since the reign of Louis XIV. The emperor is more strict in prison discipline than even Louis himself, and the number of prisoners whose names are not on the register is incalculable.”

      Had Morrel even any suspicions, so much kindness would have dispelled them.

      “Well, M. de Villefort, how would you advise me to act?” asked he.

      “Petition the minister.”

      “Oh, I know what that is; the minister receives two hundred every day, and does not read three.”

      “That is true; but he will read a petition countersigned and presented by me.”

      “And will you undertake to deliver it?”

      “With the greatest pleasure. Dantès was then guilty, and now he is innocent; and it is as much my duty to free him as it was to condemn him.”

      “But how shall I address the minister?”

      “Sit down there,” said Villefort, giving up his place to Morrel, “and write what I dictate.”

      “Will you be so good?”

      “Certainly. But lose no time; we have lost too much already.”

      “That is true. Only think that perhaps this poor young man is pining in captivity.”

      Villefort shuddered at this picture: but he was too far gone to recede: Dantès must be crushed beneath the weight of Villefort’s ambition.

      Villefort dictated a petition, in which, from an excellent intention no doubt, Dantès’ services were exaggerated, and he was made out one of the most active agents of Napoleon’s return. It was evident that at the sight of this document the minister would instantly release him.

      The petition finished, Villefort read it aloud.

      “That will do,” said he; “leave the rest to me.”

      “Will the petition go soon?”

      “Today.”

      “Countersigned by you?”

      “The best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the contents of your petition.”

      And sitting down, Villefort wrote the certificate at the bottom.

      “What more is to be done?”

      “I will answer for everything.”

      This assurance charmed Morrel, who took leave of Villefort, and hastened to announce to old Dantès that he would soon see his son.

      As for Villefort, instead of sending to Paris, he carefully preserved the petition that so fearfully compromised Dantès, in the hopes of an event that seemed not unlikely, that is, a second restoration.

      Dantès remained a prisoner, and heard not the noise of the fall of Louis XVIII’s throne.

      Twice during the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand, and twice had Villefort soothed him with promises. At last there was Waterloo, and Morrel came no more: he had done all that was in his power, and any fresh attempt would only compromise himself uselessly.

      Louis XVIII remounted the throne, Villefort demanded and obtained the situation of king’s procureur at Toulouse, and a fortnight afterwards married Renée.

      Danglars comprehended the full extent of the wretched fate that overwhelmed Dantès, and, like all men of small abilities, he termed this a decree of Providence. But when Napoleon returned to Paris, Danglars’ heart failed him, and he feared at every instant to behold Dantès eager for vengeance; he therefore informed M. Morrel of his wish to quit the sea, and obtained a recommendation from him to a Spanish merchant, into whose service he entered at the end of March, that is, ten or twelve days after Napoleon’s return. He then left for Madrid, and was no more heard of.

      Fernand understood nothing except that Dantès was absent. What had become of him? He cared not to inquire. Only during the respite the absence of his rival afforded him, he reflected partly on the means of deceiving Mercédès as to the cause of his absence, partly on plans of emigration and abduction, as from time to time he sat sad and motionless on the summit of Cape Pharo, at the spot from whence Marseilles and the village des Catalans are visible, watching for the apparition of a young and handsome man, who was for him also the messenger of vengeance. Fernand’s mind was made up: he would shoot Dantès, and then kill himself. But Fernand was mistaken; a man of his disposition never kills himself, for he constantly hopes.

      During this time the empire made a last appeal, and every man in France capable of bearing arms rushed to obey the summons of their emperor.

      Fernand departed with the rest, bearing with him the terrible thought, that perhaps his rival was behind him, and would marry Mercédès.

      Had Fernand really meant to kill himself, he would have done so when he parted from Mercédès. His devotion, and the compassion he showed for her misfortunes, produced the effect they always produce on noble minds; Mercédès had always had a sincere regard for Fernand, and this was now strengthened by gratitude.

      “My brother,” said she, as she placed his СКАЧАТЬ