Paris had talked over and wondered at all this for a week, and then had completely forgotten it, turning its fickle attention to newer and more engrossing sensations. Albert's marriage and the legacy healed the breach between Eugenie and the Count of Monte-Cristo, and the young couple, together with the real Mlle. d' Armilly, had been added to the happy family in the mansion of the Rue du Helder.

The Viscount Giovanni Ma.s.setti had appeared in Paris. Immediately after his reckless visit to Zuleika in the convent garden and his wild interview with her there, he had gone to the Count of Monte-Cristo, avowed his love for Haydee's child and solicited her hand in marriage.

He had been told to wait a year, a period he had pa.s.sed he scarcely knew how, but it had been an eternity to him, an eternity fraught with restless anxiety, with alternations between ardent hope and the depths of despair. The expiration of his probation found him in the mansion of the Rue du Helder, renewing his earnest suit with the Count, who had granted him permission to win his daughter if he could. The young Italian had at once sought Zuleika, who had welcomed him as her lover and betrothed. Then a clash had suddenly arisen; Esperance had expressed his abhorrence of his sister's suitor, had given mysterious hints that had recalled the half-forgotten Roman scandal, and a separation between Giovanni and Zuleika had ensued, the former refusing to speak out and clear himself, pleading his terrible oath of silence. In the course of his vague, unsatisfactory disclosures, Esperance had unguardedly mentioned the name of Luigi Vampa, and the Count of Monte-Cristo had written to the brigand chief, requesting such information as he possessed in regard to the impenetrable mystery. Vampa's reply had been a fearful arraignment of the youthful Viscount, but Zuleika could not believe her lover the depraved and guilty wretch the brigand chief represented him to be, a.s.serting that there was something yet unexplained, something that would effectually exculpate him could it be reached. The Count of Monte-Cristo had at first inclined to the belief that Ma.s.setti was merely the victim of circ.u.mstances, of some remarkable coincidence, but Vampa's letter scattered this belief to the winds and he demanded that the Viscount should conclusively prove his innocence.

Zuleika had meanwhile banished her lover from her presence, but her heart yearned for him and defended him in spite of everything. She therefore sent him Vampa's letter, a.s.suring him of her belief in his innocence and commanding him to prove it to her and to the world.

Thereupon Giovanni had instantly quitted Paris. His sudden disappearance seemed like a flight; it caused scandal's thousand tongues to wag remorselessly; but, although he left no word for her, Zuleika knew her command had sent him to Italy to clear his name and record in her eyes; she was firmly convinced that she would see him again, that he would return to Paris rehabilitated.

Such was the general condition of affairs, as affecting the Monte-Cristo family, at the time the thread of this narrative is resumed.

It was the month of July. The heat in Paris was intense, absolutely stifling; a white glow seemed to fall from the breezeless, yellow atmosphere, scorching the very pavements; for weeks there had been no rain, not the slightest sign of a cloud in the pitiless heavens. The streets were almost deserted; even that favored thoroughfare of fashion, the Rue de la Paix, boasted of but few promenaders; the only spot in request was the Bois de Boulogne, with its magnificent trees and deliciously shaded avenues; the Champs-Elysees, throughout its entire extent, from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de l' etoile, was like a sun-swept desert, and its picturesque marchands de coco, with their shining mugs, snow-white ap.r.o.ns and tinkling bells, found only a limited demand for their liquorice water and lemon juice, while even the Theatres de Guignol failed to arrest the rare pa.s.sers.

In the vast garden of the Monte-Cristo mansion, notwithstanding its power elsewhere, the sun seemed to have been successfully defied; there the trees, shrubs and plants were not parched, but preserved all their freshness and beauty, suggesting the coolness of early spring rather than the sweltering heat of midsummer, while the parterres were brilliant with gorgeous bloom and penetrating perfumes loaded the air.

Near a little gate opening upon the Rue du Helder, early one morning, Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly were sitting on a rustic bench beneath an ample honeysuckle-covered arbor. They had come to the garden from the breakfast-room to rest and chat after their meal. The former music-teacher was telling her companion of her stage experience and of the many adventures she had met with during her operatic career. In the midst of a most interesting recital, she suddenly paused, fixing her eyes upon the little gate, with a cry of surprise and terror. Zuleika followed the direction of her glance and gave a start as she saw, leaning against the bars of the gate, a sinister-looking man, clad in dusty, tattered garments, who was peering at her companion and herself with eyes that glittered like those of some venomous serpent. When he noticed that he was observed, the man pulled a greasy, weather-stained cap from his head, disclosing a profusion of matted, whitened locks, and, stretching a grimy hand, with hooked fingers that resembled the claws of an enormous bird, through the bars, said, in the hoa.r.s.e tones peculiar to the outcasts of the streets:

"Charity, for the love of G.o.d!"

The man seemed more like a thief than a beggar. Nevertheless, Mlle. d'

Armilly, who was the first to recover her self-possession, drew a few sous from her pocket and advanced to place them in his palm. As she came closer to him, the mendicant acted very strangely. Instead of taking the money, he suddenly withdrew his hand, staring at Mlle. d' Armilly with an expression of mingled terror and amazement upon his evil countenance.

Then he quickly turned from the gate, thrust on his cap and started off at a rapid pace. Mlle. d' Armilly also was singularly affected; she dropped the sous, became ashy pale and would have fallen to the ground had not Zuleika sprung to her side and caught her in her arms.

"What is the matter, Louise?" cried the girl, astonished at the beggar's behavior and still more so at the effect he had produced upon her companion.

"I have seen a ghost!" replied Mlle. d' Armilly, in a startling whisper.

"A ghost?"

"Yes! Oh! let us quit the garden at once!"

"The ghost of whom?"

"I dare not say! Come, come, I cannot remain here another second! How fortunate that young Madame de Morcerf was not with us! She would have been driven mad!"

"Albert's wife? You talk wildly, Louise. What interest could she feel in that wretched outcast?"

"What interest? Do not ask me. I cannot, I must not tell you! Oh! it is terrible!"

"Will you tell Albert's wife of what you have seen?"

"No! a thousand times no! She must not even suspect that man's return from the grave! I entreat you to say nothing to her or any one else!"

"I shall be silent upon the subject; but that beggar was not a ghost; he was a most substantial reality. Something frightened him away, something, doubtless, that he saw in the street, perhaps a sergent de ville. Your recognition of him was fancied."

"It was not fancied. But we must not stay here; I would not see that face, those eyes again for worlds!"

Zuleika took her friend's arm and walked with her towards the mansion, endeavoring as they went along to rea.s.sure her, to reason her out of her fright. Her efforts, however, proved altogether futile. Mlle. d' Armilly was utterly unnerved and at once retired to her room.

Notwithstanding her willingness to believe that Mlle. d' Armilly had been deceived with regard to the ident.i.ty of the beggar and, in her confusion, had confounded him with some one else, Zuleika could not altogether shake off a feeling of vague apprehension, of ill-defined terror when she thought over the singular conduct and wild agitation of the former music-teacher in the quiet and solitude of her own chamber.

Why had Mlle. d' Armilly been so stricken at the sight of the mendicant?

Why had she so earnestly entreated her to say nothing of what had occurred to any one, and, especially, to avoid all mention of the matter to Albert de Morcerf's wife? Mlle. d' Armilly had seen too much of the world to be frightened by a mere trifle. Was it possible that the ragged outcast had been in some way identified with young Madame de Morcerf's operatic career, that he had been her lover? The latter supposition would furnish a plausible cause for the former music-teacher's terror, as the reappearance of a lover might lead to disclosures well-calculated to seriously disturb the happiness and tranquillity of the newly-made husband and wife. Zuleika had heard that Eugenie had been much courted during the period she was on the stage, that she had numbered her ardent admirers by scores, but this man seemed too old, too forlorn, to have recently been in a position to scatter wealth at the feet of a prima donna. Besides, Mlle. d' Armilly had spoken of him as a ghost and had appeared to refer him to a period more remote. Zuleika had also heard of Mlle. Danglars' broken marriage-contract away back in the past. Could this beggar be the scoundrel who had masqueraded under the a.s.sumed t.i.tle of Prince Cavalcanti and had so nearly become her husband? Perhaps; but even if he were that unscrupulous wretch, what harm could his reappearance do at this late day, now that the old story had been thoroughly sifted and almost forgotten? Albert was well aware of all the details of the Cavalcanti episode, and it was hardly likely that anything further could be exposed that would disturb either him or his wife. No, the grimy, white-haired, sinister-looking stranger could not be the quondam Prince; he was some one else, some one more to be feared.

But who was he, if not the miserable son of Villefort? Zuleika was more perplexed and disturbed than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

If she could only speak with the Count of Monte-Cristo, tell him all, some explanation of the mystery might, doubtless, be obtained, an explanation that would, at least, calm her vague fears; but that was impossible; her promise to Mlle. d' Armilly to be silent sealed her lips as effectually with her father as with young Madame de Morcerf. Whatever might be her fears, she would have to bear them alone, or, at the best, share them with Mlle. d' Armilly, who, evidently, would give her no further satisfaction.

Meanwhile the man who had caused all this trouble after having almost run quite a distance along the Rue du Helder, utterly oblivious of the attention he drew to himself from the rare pa.s.sers, turned into the Rue Taitbout, thence reached the Rue de Provence and finally found himself in the Cite d' Antin. There he made his way into a small drinking-shop or caboulot, patronized by some of the worst prowlers about that section of Paris. The room he entered was unoccupied save by a slatternly young woman, who sat behind the counter reading a greasy copy of the Gazette des Tribunaux. The man went to the counter and, throwing down the price, demanded a gla.s.s of brandy, which he swallowed at a gulp. Then he addressed the slatternly young woman, who, with her paper still in one hand, was half-smiling, half-scowling at him.

"Is Waldmann here?" he asked, with the air of a man who feels himself thoroughly at home.

"Yes," answered the young woman, resuming her seat and her reading; "he is in the back room, playing piquet with Peppino, Beppo and Siebecker."

"Good!" said the man. "I am in luck. I scarcely expected to find them all in at this hour."

With this he opened a glazed door, and, stepping into the back room, closed it behind him. The players, who were seated at a table, with mugs of beer beside them, glanced up quickly from their game as he came in, and one of them, a heavy-framed, beetle-browed German, called out to him, speaking French:

"How now, Bouche-de-Miel, what is the matter? You are out of breath and as pale as if you had been shadowed by an Agent de la Surete!"

"I have not been shadowed, Waldmann," answered the beggar or Bouche-de-Miel, "but I have made a startling discovery."

The players at once put down their cards and leaned forward to hear.

They were a rough, desperate-looking set; on their ill-omened and sunburnt visages thief could be read as plainly as if it were written there, and perhaps, also, the still more significant word, a.s.sa.s.sin! Two of the men were Italians, evidently the Peppino and Beppo referred to by the slatternly young woman at the counter in the outer room. Besides Waldmann there was another German. This was Siebecker. Tall, slim, with yellow hair and moustache, he had some claim to good looks; his attire was quite respectable compared to that of the rest; had he not possessed a pair of restless, demoniac eyes, he might have pa.s.sed for a person of tolerably fair repute, but those glaring, tiger-like orbs betrayed his true character and stamped him as a very dangerous member of the criminal fraternity. Waldmann appeared to be the leader of the coterie.

The Italians wore blue blouses, but the distinctive garment of the Parisian workman could not conceal a certain brigandish air that was second nature to them.

"Let's hear about your startling discovery, Bouche-de-Miel," said Waldmann. "Take a seat and tell us."

The beggar dropped upon a wooden chest, saying, in a tone of deep dejection, as he did so:

"Much as I long to take a hand in to-night's little job, I'm afraid you'll have to let me off!"

"Stuff!" cried Waldmann. "You are afraid of meeting that terrible fellow, the Count of Monte-Cristo! But the startling discovery--out with it, man!"

"Yes; the discovery, the discovery!" demanded the others, impatiently.

"Well," said Bouche-de-Miel, "I went to the Rue du Helder this morning, as agreed upon, and made a survey of Monte-Cristo's mansion. Nothing easier than to get in, as no watch is kept at night, and the Count is not in the least suspicious although he has millions of francs in his safe, to say not a word of jewels and other valuables. As I was about leaving the premises, I stopped at a little gate giving access to the garden from the street, having noticed that the key had been carelessly left in the lock on the outside. I was leaning against the gate, taking a wax impression of this key, which would a.s.sure us entrance without trouble, when, happening to glance through the grating into the garden, I saw two women; they had noticed me and seemed greatly frightened.

Instantly I thrust my hand through the bars and asked for charity. One of the women summoned up sufficient courage to arise and approach me; she was about to give me some money, when suddenly she recognized me in spite of all the changes in my appearance. I also recognized her and hastened away as rapidly as I could."

"Well, what of all this?" said Waldmann, calmly. "It amounts to nothing whatever."

"It amounts to so much that I cannot go with you to Monte-Cristo's house and run the risk of meeting that woman!"

Waldmann gave vent to a loud laugh; the others smiled.

"I never before heard of a Frenchman who was afraid to meet a woman!"

said Siebecker, much amused.

"I tell you I cannot go; you must let me off," said Bouche-de-Miel, obstinately.

"What!" cried Peppino. "Do you allow a woman to stand between you and your vengeance against the Count of Monte-Cristo? Remember Luigi Vampa's bill of fare!"

Bouche-de-Miel glared at the Italian savagely.

"There is no need for me to remember it," returned he, bitterly. "I have never forgotten it. Neither have I forgotten your share in that infamous business!" he added, between his teeth.