Monte-Cristo's Daughter Part 15

"It was my duty to do as I was bidden!" retorted Peppino.

"I will have my revenge on you yet!" muttered Bouche-de-Miel, menacingly.

"We shall see!" answered the Italian, defiantly.

Waldmann interposed and said, sternly:

"No quarreling! We are brothers and are united for mutual gain.

Bouche-de-Miel, you must go with us to-night. I order you to go and will take no excuse! Besides, if, as Peppino says, you have vengeance to gratify against the Count of Monte-Cristo, the opportunity is too precious for you to neglect it! At any rate, go you shall! Where is the wax impression of the key?"

Bouche-de-Miel handed the German a small package which, he took from his pocket. Waldmann gave it to Siebecker, directing him to fas.h.i.+on a key in accordance with it. In the meantime the beggar had been thinking.

His face showed that a fierce struggle was taking place in his mind, a struggle between fear and a burning desire for revenge. The latter ultimately triumphed, and the beggar, rising from the chest, went to the table, bringing his fist down upon it with a resounding blow.

"I will accompany you, mates!" he said, with wildly flas.h.i.+ng eyes and in an excited voice. "Monte-Cristo robbed me, ruined me and drove me into the world a penniless vagrant! I will have my revenge!"

"Spoken like a hero!" said Waldmann, enthusiastically. "We will meet at the little gate on the Rue du Helder at midnight. Siebecker will give you the key, Bouche-de-Miel, and you will open the gate. You need not fear recognition, even if you should meet the woman you have spoken of face to face, for you will be masked like the rest of us. If you are anxious about her safety, I will tell you now that we only want Monte-Cristo's millions; we do not mean murder."

"But what if murder should be necessary, if it cannot be avoided?"

Waldmann shrugged his shoulders.

"Then we must protect ourselves," he answered, phlegmatically.

Thereupon the coterie of miscreants separated, to pa.s.s away the hours as best they might, until the time for the brilliant stroke they meditated arrived.

CHAPTER XII.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

The Count of Monte-Cristo was in his study, pacing to and fro; he was plunged in thought, and an expression indicative of deep concern was upon his pale, but resolute countenance. Ever and anon he would pause in front of a small table on which was a telegraphic outfit for the sending and receiving of messages, listening with close attention to the sounds given forth, for, although sound reading was not much practiced by the telegraphers of that period, Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have all the accomplishments of his own age and those of ages to come, was a proficient at it, as well as a remarkably rapid and correct operator.

It was nearly midnight. The entire family in the mansion of the Rue du Helder had retired to rest, with the exception of its head, who had remained up in response to a summons from Berlin to be ready to receive the details of a secret meeting of a vast society of Prussian patriots, which would be sent to him in cipher by one of his most enthusiastic and active agents for the promotion of the cause of universal human liberty.

The intense heat that had prevailed all day had been but slightly moderated by the advent of a close, sultry night; there was not the faintest breeze in the heavy, oppressive air, and the blue sky, full of stars and flooded with brilliant moonlight, was without a cloud. The silvery brightness poured in through the open windows of the study, so illuminating the apartment that the Count had extinguished his lamp.

Fantastic shadows were projected on the floor by the book-cases and various articles of furniture, looking like gigantic and dwarfed shapes of demons and elfs and lending the scene a weird, supernatural aspect.

Monte-Cristo walked amid these distorted shadows like some master magician communing with the dark, mysterious spirits that received his commands in silence and then vanished to execute them without question or debate.

The Count's thoughts were of a sombre nature; he was pondering over the problem of French freedom, wondering how long the volatile, changeful nation with which he had cast his lot would retain the liberty acquired by the revolution that had overturned Louis Philippe's throne and given the people power. He distrusted the events of the near future. Already the Bonapartists were active and Louis Napoleon was looming up as a formidable figure. The nephew of the great conqueror of Europe professed republican sentiments, but Monte-Cristo doubted his sincerity as well as his ability to govern the restless population of Paris. He foresaw imitation of the famous Emperor; his prophetic eye pierced through Louis Napoleon's presidential aspirations and saw beyond them a second Empire not less brilliant but not more substantial than the first. The policy of the Bonapartes was to dazzle the ma.s.ses, the men of the barricades, by a show of grandeur and amuse rather than force them into submission.

The Count had held aloof from Louis Napoleon, had even opposed him to the full extent of his mighty influence; he had done so not from any personal considerations, but for the good of the entire French people, for the preservation intact of the fabric of freedom, the fruit of the revolution of 1848.

Meanwhile, as these thoughts coursed through Monte-Cristo's active brain, the telegraphic instrument went ticking steadily on, but the information he expected was not conveyed. News flashed to him from every centre of political agitation save Berlin; there an obstinate, ominous silence prevailed. Several times he sought to open communication with his confederate in the Prussian capital, but his signals were unanswered. At last he paused wearily in his walk, throwing himself in a huge arm-chair; fatigue weighed upon his eyelids and he speedily sank into an uneasy, broken sleep, from which he started at intervals, disturbed by some vague, disquieting dream. Ever and anon, as he dozed, that smile that made him so handsome would steal over his manly countenance, bringing out into bold relief all his wonderful n.o.bility and benevolence of expression.

As midnight struck in every clock-tower in Paris, the usual solitude of the Rue du Helder at that dead hour was broken by the appearance of a sinister figure at the little gate of Monte-Cristo's garden. This figure was almost instantly followed by another hardly less forbidding. Both wore masks and moved as stealthily as cats. The second figure addressed the first, speaking in a cautious whisper:

"Bouche-de-Miel, is that you?"

"Yes. Siebecker, have you the key?" muttered the other, scarcely above his breath.

"Here it is, old man. Now to work. The others will be on hand in a moment. Open the gate and let us get in."

Bouche-de-Miel took the key, which was covered with oil to prevent grating, and inserted it in the lock. It fitted to a charm and turned noiselessly. Bouche-de-Miel gave the gate a gentle push; it yielded, swinging open without a sound. The two men pa.s.sed inside, partially closing it after them. The moonlight fell upon the seat that Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly had occupied beneath the honey-suckle-covered arbor that morning; Bouche-de-Miel gave a sudden start as he glanced at it, half-repenting of having yielded to Waldmann's command under the impulse of his hatred for Monte-Cristo and his desire for revenge; he trembled violently in spite of all his efforts to maintain composure and his face became one ma.s.s of sweat beneath his protecting mask. Siebecker noticed his agitation and gave vent to a smothered curse.

"Sacre nom d' un chien!" he muttered, between his teeth, "if you go on like that, old man, it would have been better had Waldmann let you off.

You can't do this job with an unsteady hand. Brace up, brace up, Bouche-de-Miel! What's that?"

There was a slight noise at the gate. Grasping his tremulous companion by the arm, Siebecker hurriedly drew him behind a clump of small chestnut trees. No sooner were they hidden than three masked men cautiously opened the gate and came on tip-toe into the garden.

Waldmann, Peppino and Beppo had arrived and were ready to do their share of the nefarious work. Siebecker and Bouche-de-Miel silently emerged from their hiding-place and joined them.

Waldmann glanced about him, evidently satisfied.

"So far so good," said he, in an undertone. "We are all here on time. Do not let us waste an instant. Have you steadied your nerves with plenty of brandy, Bouche-de-Miel?"

"I'm all right," replied the latter, doggedly, though there was a perceptible quiver in his voice as he spoke.

"He has just had another fit of fear," said Siebecker, disdainfully. "I think we would do well to leave him with Peppino and Beppo to keep watch in the garden! It won't be safe to take him with us into the house, Waldmann!"

The leader went up to Bouche-de-Miel and gave him a rough shake.

"You are a coward!" said he, savagely. "That woman story you told us was all bosh. You are afraid of meeting Monte-Cristo, as I saw very plainly this morning!"

This taunt stung Bouche-de-Miel to the quick and restored to him all his courage. He faced Waldmann unflinchingly and retorted:

"I am no coward and I am not afraid of Monte-Cristo!"

"Then what is the matter with, you?"

"That is my business, but it shan't damage this night's work. I will go with you to the house and do my part as well as you or Siebecker. You said not to waste an instant. What are you waiting for? Go on!"

"Do you swear to stand by us to the last whatever happens?"

"I swear it!"

"I will trust you."

"And you will have no reason to repent of your trust. If I meet Monte-Cristo I will kill him as I would a mongrel cur! Does that satisfy you?"

"How about your mysterious woman?"

Bouche-de-Miel could not repress a start, but he clenched his fists firmly and replied, with an effort:

"Never mind her! She must take care of herself!"

"Who is she?"

"Never mind her, I say! If harm comes to her it will be her own fault!"