The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas

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       18 The Treasure

      WHEN DANTÈS RETURNED next morning to the chamber of his companion in captivity, he found Faria seated and looking composed. In the ray of light which entered by the narrow window of his cell, he held open in his left hand, of which alone, it will be recollected, he retained the use, a morsel of paper, which, from being constantly rolled into a small compass, had the form of a cylinder, and was not easily kept open. He did not speak, but showed the paper to Dantès.

      “What is that?” he inquired.

      “Look at it,” said the abbé, with a smile.

      “I have looked at it with all possible attention,” said Dantès, “and I only see a half-burnt paper on which are traces of Gothic characters traced with peculiar kind of ink.”

      “This paper, my friend,” said Faria, “I may now avow to you, since I have proved you,—this paper is my treasure, of which, from this day forth, one half belongs to you.”

      A cold damp started to Dantès’ brow. Until this day,—and what a space of time!—he had avoided talking to the abbé of this treasure, the source whence accusation of madness against the poor abbé was derived. With his instinctive delicacy Edmond had preferred avoiding any touch on this painful chord, and Faria had been equally silent. He had taken the silence of the old man for a return to reason, and now these few words uttered by Faria, after so painful a crisis, seemed to announce a serious relapse of mental alienation.

      “Your treasure?” stammered Dantès. Faria smiled.

      “Yes,” said he. “You are, indeed, a noble heart, Edmond; and I see by your paleness and your shudder what is passing in your heart at this moment. No, be assured, I am not mad. This treasure exists, Dantès; and if I have not been allowed to possess it you will. Yes—you. No one would listen to me or believe me because they thought me mad; but you, who must know that I am not, listen to me, and believe me afterwards if you will.”

      “Alas!” murmured Edmond to himself, “this is a terrible relapse! There was only this blow wanting.” Then he said aloud, “My dear friend, your attack has, perhaps fatigued you, had you not better repose a while! Tomorrow, if you will, I will hear your narrative; but today I wish to nurse you carefully. Besides,” he said, “a treasure is not a thing we need hurry.”

      “On the contrary, it must be hurried, Edmond!” replied the old man. “Who knows if tomorrow, or the next day after, the third attack may not come on? and then must not all be finished? Yes, indeed, I have often thought with a bitter joy that these riches, which would make the wealth of a dozen families, will be for ever lost to those men who persecute me. This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my captivity. But now I have forgiven the world for the love of you; now I see you young and full of hope and prospect,—now that I think of all that may result to you in the good fortune of such a disclosure, I shudder at any delay, and tremble lest I should not assure to one so worthy as yourself the possession of so vast an amount of hidden treasure.”

      Edmond turned away his head with a sigh.

      “You persist in your incredulity, Edmond,” continued Faria. “My words have not convinced you. I see you require proofs. Well, then, read this paper which I have never shown to any one.”

      “Tomorrow, my dear friend,” said Edmond, desirous of not yielding to the old man’s madness. “I thought it was understood that we should not talk of that until tomorrow.”

      “Then we will not talk of it until tomorrow; but read this paper today.”

      “I will not irritate him,” thought Edmond, and taking the paper, of which half was wanting, having been burnt, no doubt, by some accident, he read:

      “This treasure, which may amount to two of Roman crowns in the most distant a of the second opening wh declare to belong to him alo heir.

      “25th April, 149 “

      “Well!” said Faria, when the young man had finished reading it.

      “Why,” replied Dantès, “I see nothing but broken lines and unconnected words, which are rendered illegible by fire.”

      “Yes, to you, my friend, who read them for the first time, but not for me, who have grown pale over them by many nights’ study, and have reconstructed every phrase, completed every thought.”

      “And do you believe you have discovered the concealed sense?”

      “I am sure I have, and you shall judge for yourself; but first listen to the history of this paper.”

      “Silence!” exclaimed Dantès. “Steps approach, I go, adieu.”

      And Dantès, happy to escape the history and explanation which could not fail to confirm to him his friend’s malady, glided like a snake along the narrow passage, whilst Faria, restored by his alarm to a kind of activity, pushed with СКАЧАТЬ