Chapter Chapter 40 · The Rendezvous

The first words that Albert uttered to his friend, on the following

morning, contained a request that Franz would accompany him on a visit

to the count; true, the young man had warmly and energetically thanked

the count on the previous evening; but services such as he had rendered

could never be too often acknowledged. Franz, who seemed attracted by

some invisible influence towards the count, in which terror was

strangely mingled, felt an extreme reluctance to permit his friend to

be exposed alone to the singular fascination that this mysterious

personage seemed to exercise over him, and therefore made no objection

to Albert’s request, but at once accompanied him to the desired spot,

and, after a short delay, the count joined them in the salon.

“My dear count,” said Albert, advancing to meet him, “permit me to

repeat the poor thanks I offered last night, and to assure you that the

remembrance of all I owe to you will never be effaced from my memory;

believe me, as long as I live, I shall never cease to dwell with

grateful recollection on the prompt and important service you rendered

me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted even for my life.”

“My very good friend and excellent neighbor,” replied the count, with a

smile, “you really exaggerate my trifling exertions. You owe me nothing

but some trifle of 20,000 francs, which you have been saved out of your

travelling expenses, so that there is not much of a score between

us;—but you must really permit me to congratulate you on the ease and

unconcern with which you resigned yourself to your fate, and the

perfect indifference you manifested as to the turn events might take.”

“Upon my word,” said Albert, “I deserve no credit for what I could not

help, namely, a determination to take everything as I found it, and to

let those bandits see, that although men get into troublesome scrapes

all over the world, there is no nation but the French that can smile

even in the face of grim Death himself. All that, however, has nothing

to do with my obligations to you, and I now come to ask you whether, in

my own person, my family, or connections, I can in any way serve you?

My father, the Comte de Morcerf, although of Spanish origin, possesses

considerable influence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I

unhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to whom my

life is dear, at your disposal.”

“Monsieur de Morcerf,” replied the count, “your offer, far from

surprising me, is precisely what I expected from you, and I accept it

in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with which it is made;—nay, I

will go still further, and say that I had previously made up my mind to

ask a great favor at your hands.”

“Oh, pray name it.”

“I am wholly a stranger to Paris—it is a city I have never yet seen.”

“Is it possible,” exclaimed Albert, “that you have reached your present

age without visiting the finest capital in the world? I can scarcely

credit it.”

“Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in thinking

that my present ignorance of the first city in Europe is a reproach to

me in every way, and calls for immediate correction; but, in all

probability, I should have performed so important, so necessary a duty,

as that of making myself acquainted with the wonders and beauties of

your justly celebrated capital, had I known any person who would have

introduced me into the fashionable world, but unfortunately I possessed

no acquaintance there, and, of necessity, was compelled to abandon the

idea.”

“So distinguished an individual as yourself,” cried Albert, “could

scarcely have required an introduction.”

“You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no merit I

possess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have become a partner in

the speculations of M. Aguado and M. Rothschild; but as my motive in

travelling to your capital would not have been for the pleasure of

dabbling in stocks, I stayed away till some favorable chance should

present itself of carrying my wish into execution. Your offer, however,

smooths all difficulties, and I have only to ask you, my dear M. de

Morcerf” (these words were accompanied by a most peculiar smile),

“whether you undertake, upon my arrival in France, to open to me the

doors of that fashionable world of which I know no more than a Huron or

a native of Cochin-China?”

“Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure,” answered Albert; “and so

much the more readily as a letter received this morning from my father

summons me to Paris, in consequence of a treaty of marriage (my dear

Franz, do not smile, I beg of you) with a family of high standing, and

connected with the very cream of Parisian society.”

“Connected by marriage, you mean,” said Franz, laughingly.

“Well, never mind how it is,” answered Albert, “it comes to the same

thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to Paris, I shall be

quite a sober, staid father of a family! A most edifying representative

I shall make of all the domestic virtues—don’t you think so? But as

regards your wish to visit our fine city, my dear count, I can only say

that you may command me and mine to any extent you please.”

“Then it is settled,” said the count, “and I give you my solemn

assurance that I only waited an opportunity like the present to realize

plans that I have long meditated.”

Franz did not doubt that these plans were the same concerning which the

count had dropped a few words in the grotto of Monte Cristo, and while

the count was speaking the young man watched him closely, hoping to

read something of his purpose in his face, but his countenance was

inscrutable especially when, as in the present case, it was veiled in a

sphinx-like smile.

“But tell me now, count,” exclaimed Albert, delighted at the idea of

having to chaperon so distinguished a person as Monte Cristo; “tell me

truly whether you are in earnest, or if this project of visiting Paris

is merely one of the chimerical and uncertain air castles of which we

make so many in the course of our lives, but which, like a house built

on the sand, is liable to be blown over by the first puff of wind?”

“I pledge you my honor,” returned the count, “that I mean to do as I

have said; both inclination and positive necessity compel me to visit

Paris.”

“When do you propose going thither?”

“Have you made up your mind when you shall be there yourself?”

“Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks’ time, that is to say,

as fast as I can get there!”

“Nay,” said the Count; “I will give you three months ere I join you;

you see I make an ample allowance for all delays and difficulties.

“And in three months’ time,” said Albert, “you will be at my house?”

“Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day and hour?”

inquired the count; “only let me warn you that I am proverbial for my

punctilious exactitude in keeping my engagements.”

“Day for day, hour for hour,” said Albert; “that will suit me to a

dot.”

“So be it, then,” replied the count, and extending his hand towards a

calendar, suspended near the chimney-piece, he said, “today is the 21st

of February;” and drawing out his watch, added, “it is exactly

half-past ten o’clock. Now promise me to remember this, and expect me

the 21st of May at the same hour in the forenoon.”

“Capital!” exclaimed Albert; “your breakfast shall be waiting.”

“Where do you live?”

“No. 27, Rue du Helder.”

“Have you bachelor’s apartments there? I hope my coming will not put

you to any inconvenience.”

“I reside in my father’s house, but occupy a pavilion at the farther

side of the courtyard, entirely separated from the main building.”

“Quite sufficient,” replied the count, as, taking out his tablets, he

wrote down “No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, half-past ten in the

morning.”

“Now then,” said the count, returning his tablets to his pocket, “make

yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your time-piece will not be more

accurate in marking the time than myself.”

“Shall I see you again ere my departure?” asked Albert.

“That depends; when do you leave?”

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock.”

“In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to go to

Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday evening or Sunday

morning. And you, baron,” pursued the count, addressing Franz, “do you

also depart tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“For France?”

“No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or two.”

“Then we shall not meet in Paris?”

“I fear I shall not have that honor.”

“Well, since we must part,” said the count, holding out a hand to each

of the young men, “allow me to wish you both a safe and pleasant

journey.”

It was the first time the hand of Franz had come in contact with that

of the mysterious individual before him, and unconsciously he shuddered

at its touch, for it felt cold and icy as that of a corpse.

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“Let us understand each other,” said Albert; “it is agreed—is it

not?—that you are to be at No. 27, in the Rue du Helder, on the 21st of

May, at half-past ten in the morning, and your word of honor passed for

your punctuality?”

“The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du Helder, No.

27,” replied the count.

The young men then rose, and bowing to the count, quitted the room.

“What is the matter?” asked Albert of Franz, when they had returned to

their own apartments; “you seem more than commonly thoughtful.”

“I will confess to you, Albert,” replied Franz, “the count is a very

singular person, and the appointment you have made to meet him in Paris

fills me with a thousand apprehensions.”

“My dear fellow,” exclaimed Albert, “what can there possibly be in that

to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost your senses.”

“Whether I am in my senses or not,” answered Franz, “that is the way I

feel.”

“Listen to me, Franz,” said Albert; “I am glad that the occasion has

presented itself for saying this to you, for I have noticed how cold

you are in your bearing towards the count, while he, on the other hand,

has always been courtesy itself to us. Have you anything particular

against him?”

“Possibly.”

“Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?”

“I have.”

“And where?”

“Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I am about to

tell you?”

“I promise.”

“Upon your honor?”

“Upon my honor.”

“Then listen to me.”

Franz then related to his friend the history of his excursion to the

Island of Monte Cristo and of his finding a party of smugglers there,

and the two Corsican bandits with them. He dwelt with considerable

force and energy on the almost magical hospitality he had received from

the count, and the magnificence of his entertainment in the grotto of

the _Thousand and One Nights_.

He recounted, with circumstantial exactitude, all the particulars of

the supper, the hashish, the statues, the dream, and how, at his

awakening, there remained no proof or trace of all these events, save

the small yacht, seen in the distant horizon driving under full sail

toward Porto-Vecchio.

Then he detailed the conversation overheard by him at the Colosseum,

between the count and Vampa, in which the count had promised to obtain

the release of the bandit Peppino,—an engagement which, as our readers

are aware, he most faithfully fulfilled.

At last he arrived at the adventure of the preceding night, and the

embarrassment in which he found himself placed by not having sufficient

cash by six or seven hundred piastres to make up the sum required, and

finally of his application to the count and the picturesque and

satisfactory result that followed. Albert listened with the most

profound attention.

“Well,” said he, when Franz had concluded, “what do you find to object

to in all you have related? The count is fond of travelling, and, being

rich, possesses a vessel of his own. Go but to Portsmouth or

Southampton, and you will find the harbors crowded with the yachts

belonging to such of the English as can afford the expense, and have

the same liking for this amusement. Now, by way of having a

resting-place during his excursions, avoiding the wretched

cookery—which has been trying its best to poison me during the last

four months, while you have manfully resisted its effects for as many

years,—and obtaining a bed on which it is possible to slumber, Monte

Cristo has furnished for himself a temporary abode where you first

found him; but, to prevent the possibility of the Tuscan government

taking a fancy to his enchanted palace, and thereby depriving him of

the advantages naturally expected from so large an outlay of capital,

he has wisely enough purchased the island, and taken its name. Just ask

yourself, my good fellow, whether there are not many persons of our

acquaintance who assume the names of lands and properties they never in

their lives were masters of?”

“But,” said Franz, “the Corsican bandits that were among the crew of

his vessel?”

“Why, really the thing seems to me simple enough. Nobody knows better

than yourself that the bandits of Corsica are not rogues or thieves,

but purely and simply fugitives, driven by some sinister motive from

their native town or village, and that their fellowship involves no

disgrace or stigma; for my own part, I protest that, should I ever go

to Corsica, my first visit, ere even I presented myself to the mayor or

prefect, should be to the bandits of Colomba, if I could only manage to

find them; for, on my conscience, they are a race of men I admire

greatly.”

“Still,” persisted Franz, “I suppose you will allow that such men as

Vampa and his band are regular villains, who have no other motive than

plunder when they seize your person. How do you explain the influence

the count evidently possessed over those ruffians?”

“My good friend, as in all probability I own my present safety to that

influence, it would ill become me to search too closely into its

source; therefore, instead of condemning him for his intimacy with

outlaws, you must give me leave to excuse any little irregularity there

may be in such a connection; not altogether for preserving my life, for

my own idea was that it never was in much danger, but certainly for

saving me 4,000 piastres, which, being translated, means neither more

nor less than 24,000 livres of our money—a sum at which, most

assuredly, I should never have been estimated in France, proving most

indisputably,” added Albert with a laugh, “that no prophet is honored

in his own country.”

“Talking of countries,” replied Franz, “of what country is the count,

what is his native tongue, whence does he derive his immense fortune,

and what were those events of his early life—a life as marvellous as

unknown—that have tinctured his succeeding years with so dark and

gloomy a misanthropy? Certainly these are questions that, in your

place, I should like to have answered.”

“My dear Franz,” replied Albert, “when, upon receipt of my letter, you

found the necessity of asking the count’s assistance, you promptly went

to him, saying, ‘My friend Albert de Morcerf is in danger; help me to

deliver him.’ Was not that nearly what you said?”

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“It was.”

“Well, then, did he ask you, ‘Who is M. Albert de Morcerf? how does he

come by his name—his fortune? what are his means of existence? what is

his birthplace? of what country is he a native?’ Tell me, did he put

all these questions to you?”

“I confess he asked me none.”

“No; he merely came and freed me from the hands of Signor Vampa, where,

I can assure you, in spite of all my outward appearance of ease and

unconcern, I did not very particularly care to remain. Now, then,

Franz, when, for services so promptly and unhesitatingly rendered, he

but asks me in return to do for him what is done daily for any Russian

prince or Italian nobleman who may pass through Paris—merely to

introduce him into society—would you have me refuse? My good fellow,

you must have lost your senses to think it possible I could act with

such cold-blooded policy.”

And this time it must be confessed that, contrary to the usual state of

affairs in discussions between the young men, the effective arguments

were all on Albert’s side.

“Well,” said Franz with a sigh, “do as you please my dear viscount, for

your arguments are beyond my powers of refutation. Still, in spite of

all, you must admit that this Count of Monte Cristo is a most singular

personage.”

“He is a philanthropist,” answered the other; “and no doubt his motive

in visiting Paris is to compete for the Monthyon prize, given, as you

are aware, to whoever shall be proved to have most materially advanced

the interests of virtue and humanity. If my vote and interest can

obtain it for him, I will readily give him the one and promise the

other. And now, my dear Franz, let us talk of something else. Come,

shall we take our luncheon, and then pay a last visit to St. Peter’s?”

Franz silently assented; and the following afternoon, at half-past five

o’clock, the young men parted. Albert de Morcerf to return to Paris,

and Franz d’Épinay to pass a fortnight at Venice.

But, ere he entered his travelling carriage, Albert, fearing that his

expected guest might forget the engagement he had entered into, placed

in the care of a waiter at the hotel a card to be delivered to the

Count of Monte Cristo, on which, beneath the name of Viscount Albert de

Morcerf, he had written in pencil:

“27, _Rue du Helder, on the_ 21_st May, half-past ten_ A.M.”