Chapter 9 The Evening of the Betrothal
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VILLEFORT
HAD, as we have said, hastened back to Madame de Saint-Mижran's in the Place du Grand Cours,
and on entering the house found that the guests whom he had left at table
were taking coffee in the salon. Renижe was, with all the rest of the company, anxiously
awaiting him, and his entrance was followed by a general exclamation. "Well,
Decapitator, Guardian of the State, Royalist, Brutus, what is the
matter?" said one. "Speak out." "Are
we threatened with a fresh Reign of Terror?" asked another. "Has
the Corsican ogre broken loose?" cried a third. "Marquise,"
said Villefort, approaching his future mother-in-law, "I request your
pardon for thus leaving you. Will the marquis honor me by a few moments'
private conversation?" "Ah,
it is really a serious matter, then?" asked the marquis, remarking
the cloud on Villefort's brow. "So
serious that I must take leave of you for a few days; so," added he,
turning to Renижe,
"judge for yourself if it be not important." "You
are going to leave us?" cried Renижe, unable to hide her emotion at this unexpected
announcement. "Alas,"
returned Villefort, "I must!" "Where,
then, are you going?" asked the marquise. "That,
madame, is an official secret; but if you have any commissions for Paris,
a friend of mine is going there to-night, and will with pleasure undertake
them." The guests looked at each other. "You
wish to speak to me alone?" said the marquis. "Yes,
let us go to the library, please." The marquis took his arm, and they
left the salon. "Well,"
asked he, as soon as they were by themselves, "tell me what it
is?" "An
affair of the greatest importance, that demands my immediate presence in
Paris. Now, excuse the indiscretion, marquis, but have you any landed
property?" "All
my fortune is in the funds; seven or eight hundred thousand francs." "Then
sell out--sell out, marquis, or you will lose it all." "But
how can I sell out here?" "You
have it broker, have you not?" "Yes."
"Then
give me a letter to him, and tell him to sell out without an instant's
delay, perhaps even now I shall arrive too late." "The
deuce you say!" replied the marquis, "let us lose no time,
then!" And,
sitting down, he wrote a letter to his broker, ordering him to sell out at
the market price. "Now,
then," said Villefort, placing the letter in his pocketbook, "I
must have another!" "To
whom?" "To
the king." "To
the king?" "Yes."
"I
dare not write to his majesty." "I
do not ask you to write to his majesty, but ask M. de Salvieux to do so. I
want a letter that will enable me to reach the king's presence without all
the formalities of demanding an audience; that would occasion a loss of
precious time." "But
address yourself to the keeper of the seals; he has the right of entry at
the Tuileries, and can procure you audience at any hour of the day or
night." "Doubtless;
but there is no occasion to divide the honors of my discovery with him.
The keeper would leave me in the background, and take all the glory to
himself. I tell you, marquis, my fortune is made if I only reach the
Tuileries the first, for the king will not forget the service I do
him." "In
that case go and get ready. I will call Salvieux and make him write the
letter." "Be as quick as possible, I must be on the road in a
quarter of an hour." "Tell
your coachman to stop at the door." "You
will present my excuses to the marquise and Mademoiselle Renижe, whom I leave on such a day
with great regret." "You
will find them both here, and can make your farewells in person." "A
thousand thanks--and now for the letter." The
marquis rang, a servant entered. "Say
to the Comte de Salvieux that I would like to see him." "Now,
then, go," said the marquis. "I
shall be gone only a few moments." Villefort
hastily quitted the apartment, but reflecting that the sight of the deputy
procureur running through the streets would be enough to throw the whole
city into confusion, he resumed his ordinary pace. At his door he
perceived a figure in the shadow that seemed to wait for him. It was Mercижdииs, who, hearing no news of her lover, had come
unobserved to inquire after him. As
Villefort drew near, she advanced and stood before him. Dantииs had spoken of Mercижdииs, and Villefort instantly recognized her. Her
beauty and high bearing surprised him, and when she inquired what had
become of her lover, it seemed to him that she was the judge, and he the
accused. "The
young man you speak of," said Villefort abruptly, "is a great
criminal. and I can do nothing for him, mademoiselle." Mercижdииs burst into tears, and, as Villefort strove to pass
her, again addressed him. "But,
at least, tell me where he is, that I may know whether he is alive or
dead," said she. "I
do not know; he is no longer in my hands," replied Villefort. And
desirous of putting an end to the interview, he pushed by her, and closed
the door, as if to exclude the pain he felt. But remorse is not thus
banished; like Virgil's wounded hero, he carried the arrow in his wound,
and, arrived at the salon, Villefort uttered a sigh that was almost a sob,
and sank into a chair. Then
the first pangs of an unending torture seized upon his heart. The man he
sacrificed to his ambition, that innocent victim immolated on the altar of
his father's faults, appeared to him pale and threatening, leading his
affianced bride by the hand, and bringing with him remorse, not such as
the ancients figured, furious and terrible, but that slow and consuming
agony whose pangs are intensified from hour to hour up to the very moment
of death. Then he had a moment's hesitation. He had frequently called for
capital punishment on criminals, and owing to his irresistible eloquence
they had been condemned, and yet the slightest shadow of remorse had never
clouded Villefort's brow, because they were guilty; at least, he believed
so; but here was an innocent man whose happiness he had destroyed: in this
case he was not the judge, but the executioner. As he thus reflected, he
felt the sensation we have described, and which had hitherto been unknown
to him, arise in his bosom, and fill him with vague apprehensions. It is
thus that a wounded man trembles instinctively at the approach of the
finger to his wound until it be healed, but Villefort's was one of those
that never close, or if they do, only close to reopen more agonizing than
ever. If at this moment the sweet voice of Renижe had sounded in his ears
pleading for mercy, or the fair Mercижdииs
had entered and said, "In the name of God, I conjure you to restore
me my affianced husband," his cold and trembling hands would have
signed his release; but no voice broke the stillness of the chamber, and
the door was opened only by Villefort's valet, who came to tell him that
the travelling carriage was in readiness. Villefort
rose, or rather sprang, from his chair, hastily opened one of the drawers
of his desk, emptied all the gold it contained into his pocket, stood
motionless an instant, his hand pressed to his head, muttered a few
inarticulate sounds, and then, perceiving that his servant had placed his
cloak on his shoulders, he sprang into the carriage, ordering the
postilions to drive to M. de Saint-Mижran's. The hapless Dantииs was doomed. As
the marquis had promised, Villefort found the marquise and Renижe in waiting. He started when he
saw Renижe,
for he fancied she was again about to plead for Dantииs. Alas, her emotions were wholly
personal: she was thinking only of Villefort's departure. She
loved Villefort, and he left her at the moment he was about to become her
husband. Villefort knew not when he should return, and Renижe, far from pleading for Dantииs, hated the man whose crime
separated her from her lover. Meanwhile
what of Mercижdииs? She had met Fernand at the
corner of the Rue de la Loge; she had returned to the Catalans, and had
despairingly cast herself on her couch. Fernand, kneeling by her side,
took her hand, and covered it with kisses that Mercижdииs
did not even feel. She passed the night thus. The lamp went out for want
of oil, but she paid no heed to the darkness, and dawn came, but she knew
not that it was day. Grief had made her blind to all but one object--that
was Edmond. "Ah,
you are there," said she, at length, turning towards Fernand. "I
have not quitted you since yesterday," returned Fernand sorrowfully. M.
Morrel had not readily given up the fight. He had learned that Dantииs had been taken to prison, and
he had gone to all his friends, and the influential persons of the city;
but the report was already in circulation that Dantииs was arrested as a Bonapartist agent; and as the
most sanguine looked upon any attempt of Napoleon to remount the throne as
impossible, he met with nothing but refusal, and had returned home in
despair, declaring that the matter was serious and that nothing more could
be done. Caderousse
was equally restless and uneasy, but instead of seeking, like M. Morrel,
to aid Dantииs,
he had shut himself up with two bottles of black currant brandy, in the
hope of drowning reflection. But he did not succeed, and became too
intoxicated to fetch any more drink, and yet not so intoxicated as to
forget what had happened. With his elbows on the table he sat between the
two empty bottles, while spectres danced in the light of the unsnuffed
candle--spectres such as Hoffmann strews over his punch-drenched pages,
like black, fantastic dust. Danglars
alone was content and joyous--he had got rid of an enemy and made his own
situation on the Pharaon secure. Danglars was one of those men born with a
pen behind the ear, and an inkstand in place of a heart. Everything with
him was multiplication or subtraction. The life of a man was to him of far
less value than a numeral, especially when, by taking it away, he could
increase the sum total of his own desires. He went to bed at his usual
hour, and slept in peace. Villefort,
after having received M. de Salvieux' letter, embraced Renижe, kissed the marquise's hand,
and shaken that of the marquis, started for Paris along the Aix road. Old
Dantииs was dying with anxiety to know
what had become of Edmond. But we know very well what had become of
Edmond. |
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