The Son of Monte-Cristo The Son Of Monte Cristo Part 1

The Son of Monte Cristo.

by Jules Lermina.

"The Son of Monte-Cristo" stands at the head of all exciting and absorbing novels. It is the sequel to "The Wife of Monte-Cristo," and the end of the continuation of Alexander Dumas' phenomenal romance of "The Count of Monte-Cristo." Like its renowned predecessors, it absolutely swarms with thrilling and dramatic incidents and adventures, everything being fresh, original and delightful. The spell of fascination is cast over the reader in the opening chapter and remains unbroken to the end. It deals chiefly with the astounding career of Esperance, Monte-Cristo's son, whose heroic devotion to Jane Zeld is one of the most touching and romantic love stories ever written. The scenes in Algeria have a wild charm, especially the abduction of Esperance and his struggle with the Sultan on the oasis in the desert. Haydee's experience in the slave mart at Constantinople is particularly stirring and realistic, while the episodes in which the Count of Monte-Cristo figures are exceedingly graphic. The entire novel is powerful and interesting in the extreme. That it will be read by all who have read "The Count of Monte-Cristo" and will delight them is certain.

NEW YORK:

WM. L. ALLISON COMPANY,

PUBLISHERS.

COPYRIGHT.--1884.

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.

_"The Son of Monte-Cristo," the sequel to "The Wife of Monte-Cristo,"

and end of the continuation of Dumas' masterwork, "The Count of Monte-Cristo," is in all respects a great novel. Romantic in the highest degree, powerful in the widest sense of the term and absorbingly interesting, it is a work absolutely without parallel at the present day. Every chapter has a strong and stirring feature of its own, while all the legions of intensely thrilling incidents are as original and surprising as they are strong. The hero is Esperance, the son of the Count of Monte-Cristo, who is followed from boyhood to the close of his wonderful and unprecedented career. His varied and remarkable adventures form a succession of amazing episodes never equalled in fiction, while his love for the unfortunate Jane Zeld and the strange complications to which it gives rise are depicted in the most fascinating fas.h.i.+on. The Count of Monte-Cristo and Haydee also have thrilling adventures, and Mercedes, Benedetto, Sanselme and Danglars, together with Fanfar, again appear. The hosts of admirers of "The Count of Monte-Cristo" should read "The Son of Monte-Cristo," as well as all who relish a novel of rare merit. They will certainly be delighted with it._

_"The Son of Monte-Cristo" stands at the head of all exciting and absorbing novels. It is the sequel to "The Wife of Monte-Cristo," and the end of the continuation of that phenomenal romance, Alexander Dumas'

"Count of Monte-Cristo." Like its renowned predecessors, it absolutely swarms with thrilling and dramatic incidents and adventures, everything being fresh, original and delightful. The spell of fascination is cast over the reader in the opening chapter and remains unbroken to the end.

It deals chiefly with the astounding career of Esperance, Monte-Cristo's son, whose heroic devotion to Jane Zeld is one of the most touching and romantic love stories ever written. The scenes in Algeria have a wild charm, especially the abduction of Esperance and his struggle with the Sultan on the oasis in the desert. Haydee's experience in the slave mart at Constantinople is particularly stirring and realistic, while the episodes in which the Count of Monte-Cristo figures are exceedingly graphic. The entire novel is powerful and interesting in the extreme.

That it will be read by all who have read "The Count of Monte-Cristo"

and will delight them is certain._

CHAPTER I.

ESPERANCE, THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO.

Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo, lay sleeping in the comfortable bed provided for him in the house of Fanfar, the French colonist, as related at the close of the preceding volume, "The Wife of Monte-Cristo." The prostration and exhaustion brought on by the excitement and fatigue of his terrible adventure with the remorseless Khouans rendered his sleep as leaden as the sleep of death; indeed, had it not been for his heavy respiration, he might have been mistaken for a corpse. But ordinary difficulties were not to conquer the heroic son of Monte-Cristo, who seemed to have inherited all the marvelous power and energy of his n.o.ble father, and as he lay there in the hot Algerian night, amid the balmy perfume of the luxuriant tropical flowers, a mysterious smile hovered about the corners of his sharply cut lips that told unmistakably of a fearless nature and a firm desire to promote the success of the good and the true. Esperance slept, and the lion in him was dormant; it was, however, destined soon to be aroused.

In another room, around the family table, Fanfar and his guests were seated, the Count of Monte-Cristo occupying the place of honor. The colonist, at the urgent solicitation of those with whom he had so strangely been brought in contact, was about to relate the story of his life, when suddenly Monte-Cristo's quick ear caught a sound.

"What was that?" he said in a startled whisper, instantly springing to his feet.

"I heard nothing," said Fanfar.

"It was, perhaps, the cry of some wild beast," suggested Captain Joliette.

Monte-Cristo hastened to his son's apartment, followed by Fanfar, Captain Joliette and Coucon, the Zouave.

The boy was still sleeping soundly, and the apartment was altogether undisturbed.

Monte-Cristo uttered a sigh of relief; he bent over the beautiful child and gently kissed him on the forehead.

The party returned to the adjoining room and resumed their seats.

Scarcely had they done so when a dark form, shrouded in a green bournous, appeared stealthily at the open window of Esperance's chamber, and, gazing furtively around, lightly sprang into the room.

"Dog of a Frenchman!" hissed the intruder in a low tone between his teeth. "When you flung me over the battlements of Ouargla, you fancied you had killed me; but Maldar bears a charmed life and will have a bitter revenge!"

The intruder was indeed Maldar, the Sultan, who by some miracle had escaped Monte-Cristo's vengeance.

As he spoke he shook his fist in the direction of the Count, who was sitting at the table with the rest of Fanfar's guests, though his sombre air and clouded brow told that, while preserving his outward calmness, he yet suspected the presence of a deadly foe.

Maldar had removed his sandals, and his footsteps were noiseless. He went to the bed and stood for an instant gloating over the slumbering boy.

"I failed before, but I shall not fail again. Allah is great! I will strike this giaour of a Frenchman in his tenderest spot--his heart! The son shall pay the father's debt!"

Half-crouching and gathering his green bournous closely about him, he crept cautiously back to the window and made the sign of the crescent in the air. There was a slight flash, a pale phosph.o.r.escent glow, and in the midst of it the emblem of Islam appeared for an instant like a semi-circle of fire and then vanished.

Immediately a Khouan showed himself at the window; he leaped into the apartment, followed by three others of his fanatical and pitiless tribe.

The new-comers instantly knelt at Maldar's feet and kissed the hem of his bournous.

"Son of the Prophet," said one of them, "we are here to do your bidding!"

"Rise," said Maldar, "and seize yonder lad, first gagging him with this sacred scarf made from Mohammed's own sainted vestment. Be quick and bear him to the desert!"

The Khouan who had acted as spokesman took the scarf from Maldar's hand and skilfully executed his command. Esperance was in such a deep slumber that he did not make a movement, even when the Arab lifted him from the bed and held him in his arms.

"Away!" cried Maldar in an undertone, adding, as the Khouan sprang from the window and disappeared in the darkness without: "Now, Count of Monte-Cristo, you are once more at my mercy, and this time you will not escape my vengeance!"

He darted through the window, motioning to the remaining Khouans to do likewise. In an instant the room was empty; the Arabs had vanished like a vision of the night.

Ten, fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, and still not a sound to break the torpor of the Algerian night, save the hum of conversation around the table of Fanfar, the colonist. Monte-Cristo's sombre air had not pa.s.sed away. He was a prey to a species of uneasiness he had never experienced before.

Fanfar, noticing that the Count was disturbed, that some mysterious influence was working upon him, hesitated to commence his narration.

Finally he said to him:

"Count, are you anxious concerning your son? If so, you can dismiss your anxiety. The lad is in perfect safety beneath my roof; his slumber will refresh him, and he will awake entirely restored. As for the Khouans, they never deign to visit my humble habitation, and they will hardly break their rule to come here now. Still, to satisfy you and put all your apprehensions at rest, I will go and take a look at the lad."

He arose and went to Esperance's room. In an instant he returned. His face had the pallor of wax.

Monte-Cristo leaped nervously to his feet and stood staring at him, his countenance wearing an expression of intense anguish.

"Well?" said he, in an unsteady voice.

Fanfar was breathless with excitement and terror. When he could find words, he said:

"The lad is gone!"