"I will never forgive her--or you!" he hissed.

"Listen to me," said Albert, with comparative calmness. "I have come here to-night at the risk of my life to offer you money, the means of rehabilitation. Be advised. Leave these miscreants with whom you are a.s.sociated and become a man again!"

"I reject both your offer and advice!" said Bouche-de-Miel, excitedly.

"They are insults, coming as they do from the stepson of Monte-Cristo, my relentless enemy! But I will have vengeance upon you for them and through you on Edmond Dantes! Ho, Waldmann Siebecker!"

The two Germans awoke, sprang from their bench and advanced towards the table.

Mange uttered a groan of despair. He could do nothing now to avert the impending danger.

Bouche-de-Miel had leaped to his feet and grappled with Albert de Morcerf. Waldmann and Siebecker, realizing that something was wrong and at once connecting the alleged Monsieur Fouquier with it, drew long, keen-bladed knives as they rushed forward.

All the thieves and marauders who were sober enough to stand were now on their feet, ready to hurl themselves upon the suspected man. Weapons flashed in every direction--daggers, knives and pistols. Loud oaths and abusive epithets were heard on all sides; it was a perfect pandemonium, a babel of evil sounds.

Amid all the confusion and danger Mange's self-possession did not desert him. Seeing that it was useless to attempt to pacify the surging pack of desperadoes, he determined upon a bold measure, one that would enable him to save Captain de Morcerf and, at the same time, keep up his reputation with the criminal frequenters of the caboulot, with whom he desired for reasons of his own to be on good terms. He ran to the counter, where Beurre-Sans-Sel already had her hand on the screw of the hanging lamp, waiting for events to decide what action she should take.

He leaned over the counter and whispered to the girl:

"Beurre-Sans-Sel, I was deceived in Monsieur Fouquier. He imposed upon me. He told me he was from Dijon. He turns out to be a Parisian and an Agent de la Surete. He has betrayed himself. More Agents are coming!

They will be here in a moment! Put off the light!"

The girl did not hesitate a second; she gave the screw a quick twist and the caboulot was instantly as dark as a tomb.

Having executed this manoeuvre, Mange sprang to Albert de Morcerf's side, striking Bouche-de-Miel a crushing blow in the face that caused him to lose his grip of the young man. Then, seizing his employer in his brawny arms, he lifted him as if he had been a child and ran with him to the front door; this he opened, leaping into the street with his burden.

"Now run for your life!" he exclaimed, depositing the young man on the sidewalk.

With this he started off at a tearing pace, closely followed by Morcerf.

They did not pause until they had reached the Rue de Provence, where, in the blaze of the lights, amid the throngs of honest citizens, they were safe.

CHAPTER XIV.

ZULEIKA AND MME. MORREL.

Quite a long time had elapsed since the sudden departure of the Viscount Ma.s.setti from Paris, but Zuleika was still in complete ignorance as to his whereabouts and actions. He was in Rome, of that she had not the slightest doubt. She was equally convinced that his errand there was to establish his innocence of the terrible crime imputed to him by Luigi Vampa, to obtain proofs that would clear him in the eves of her father and herself, if not of all the world. Why, therefore, did he not write, why did he not give her some sign that she would understand? His silence discouraged the young girl, filled her with uneasiness. It seemed to indicate that he had not succeeded, had not been able to wipe the stain from his record. If so she would never see him again, for Giovanni was too proud to reappear in her presence with a dishonored name, a sullied reputation. This thought was torture, and Monte-Cristo's daughter felt that should her lover desert her she could not live.

As the days rolled by without a word of intelligence from the Viscount, Zuleika's fears a.s.sumed greater consistency and weight. She grew sad, inexpressibly sad; her look lost its brightness, her voice its cheery tone and her step its elasticity. The bloom faded from her youthful cheeks, giving place to an ashen pallor. She was no longer interested in her accustomed occupations and amus.e.m.e.nts, and would sit for hours together with her hands crossed in her lap, dominated by sorrowful and dismal forebodings.

Mercedes noticed her condition, and, ascribing it to its proper cause, strove in a motherly way to rouse and console her, but without effect.

She spoke to the Count about it, begging him to use his influence to cheer his child, but Monte-Cristo only shook his head, saying that they must trust to the soothing power of time which could not fail ultimately to do its work. Esperance pitied his sister sincerely, but refrained from interfering, well knowing that nothing he could say would be productive of good. Albert de Morcerf, his wife and Mlle. d' Armilly, who had learned of Zuleika's love affair and the dark shadow that had fallen upon it, felt a delicacy about alluding to the matter and, therefore, held aloof; besides, they were too much depressed by the circ.u.mstances under which Danglars had reappeared to be able to exert a cheering influence.

When Mercedes returned from Ma.r.s.eilles she was accompanied by Maximilian and Valentine Morrel, who immediately went to the mansion on the Rue du Helder and paid their respects to the Count of Monte-Cristo, their benefactor. It was their intention to make only a brief call, taking up their residence during their sojourn in Paris at that famous stopping-place for strangers, the Grand Hotel du Louvre on the Rue de Rivoli adjoining the Palais Royal, but Monte-Cristo would not hear of such a thing, insisting that the young soldier and his wife should be his guests and partake of his hospitality. They were not reluctant to consent to this agreeable arrangement, as it would enable them to enjoy uninterruptedly the society of their dearest friends.

Mme. Morrel at once took a deep interest in Zuleika. She saw that some sorrow was heavily weighing on the young girl, and, rightly divining that the tender pa.s.sion had much to do with it, immediately endeavored to inspire her with a degree of confidence sufficient to bring about revelations. In this Mme. Morrel was not actuated by curiosity. Her motive was altogether laudable; she desired to serve the Count of Monte-Cristo, to do something to show her grat.i.tude for the overwhelming benefits he had in the past showered upon her husband and herself, and could conceive no better or more effectual way than by striving to relieve Zuleika. She, therefore, promptly set about her praiseworthy but difficult task, resolved to bring back the roses to the young girl's cheeks and restore hope to her sad and dejected heart.

She began by using every womanly art to induce Zuleika to love her and look upon her as a friend of friends. In this initial step she succeeded even beyond her most ardent antic.i.p.ations. From the first Monte-Cristo's daughter was attracted towards her, and it required very little effort on Mme. Morrel's part to win her completely. Valentine's disposition was so sweet and her sympathy so sincere that Zuleika could not help loving her; besides, the romantic story of her love for Maximilian and the terrible trials she had undergone before being united to him through Monte-Cristo's potent influence, with which she was thoroughly acquainted, predisposed Giovanni's betrothed to regard her as a woman to whom she could open her heart and from whom she might derive supreme solace, if not consolation. Valentine's quick and penetrating eyes read the young girl like the pages of an open book, and she was not slow in utilizing the advantages she acquired.

Things had been going on in this way for several days, when one evening Mme. Morrel proposed a promenade in the garden to Zuleika with a view of bringing matters to a crisis. She gladly acquiesced in the proposition and soon they were strolling in the moonlight amid the fragrant flowers and centenarian trees. It was a sultry night, but there was a pleasant breeze that agreeably fanned the cheeks of Valentine and her youthful companion. Mme. Morrel had matured her plan, but Zuleika herself unexpectedly came to her aid, a.s.sisting her to put it into immediate and practical execution.

After walking for a short s.p.a.ce, they seated themselves in a magnificent pavilion or summer-house situated at the extremity of the garden. It was built of white stone, the walls being perforated by several tall archways that supplied the place of both windows and doors. Ivy and other cl.u.s.tering vines clambered about the exterior, creeping through the archways and furnishing the ceiling with a verdant canopy exceedingly inviting and refreshing to the eye weary of contemplating the dust and dryness of the streets parched by the summer sun. Without were several great silver maple trees and numerous ornamental shrubs.

Mme. Morrel drew close to Zuleika on the rustic bench they occupied and, taking the young girl's hand, said to her, in a soft voice:

"This is a delicious spot, my child."

"Yes," replied Monte-Cristo's daughter, "it is, indeed, delicious. When here, I always feel as if I could pour out my whole heart into the bosom of some faithful friend."

"Do so in this instance, my dear," said Mme. Morrel, persuasively. "I trust I am a faithful friend, as well as a discreet one."

"I believe you," rejoined Zuleika. "Ever since you have been in our house I have felt so and longed to make you my confidante, but I have hesitated to take such a step, fearing to burden you with troubles that might distress you."

"Have no further fears on that score then, but speak freely and with the certainty that in your sorrows, whatever they may be, you will find me a sincere sympathizer and comforter."

Zuleika took Valentine's hand, and, gazing into her face with tearful eyes, said:

"You have noticed that I had sorrows, Mme. Morrel?"

"Yes; how could I help it? But I have done more; I have divined their cause!"

Zuleika gave a slight start.

"Divined their cause, Mme. Morrel?"

"Yes," answered Valentine. "You are in love!"

The young girl blushed, but appeared relieved. Mme. Morrel had divined her love, had divined that her sorrows arose from it, but she had not divined the nature of the shadow that clouded her budding life and filled her with grief and apprehension.

"Zuleika," continued Valentine, with the utmost tenderness and consideration, "I, too, have loved, deeply and desperately; I, too, have felt all the bitter pangs that arise from separation; but I have realized my dream at last, and the shadows that surrounded me have been swept away by the blessed sunshine of union and happiness. Confide in me, my child. If I cannot drive your shadows from you, I can at least give you true sympathy and the consolation that it affords."

"They will be welcome to me, unspeakably welcome, madame," replied Zuleika, tremulously.

"Then tell me all."

"I cannot, madame; I have no right to; but I can tell you enough to wring your heart, to show you how unfortunate I am."

"My poor girl, I understand and appreciate your scruples. You do not wish to compromise your lover, and you are right. Your decision does you honor. Is the man you love in Paris?"

"Alas! no. I believe he is in Rome."

"Then you do not know his whereabouts with certainty?"

"No, madame."

"Does your father disapprove of his suit?"

"He did not at the outset, but very painful circ.u.mstances have since arisen, causing him to alter his determination, or, at least, hold his consent in abeyance. Still, I think, he believes Giovanni can and will refute the dreadful charge that has been made against him."