XXXVII. Les catacombes de Saint-Sébastien.

XXXVII

The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian.

Perhaps, in all his life, Franz had never felt so sharp an impression, so rapid a passage from gaiety to sadness, as at that moment; it was as if Rome, beneath the magic breath of some demon of the night, had just changed into a vast tomb. By a chance that added still further to the intensity of the darkness, the moon, which was on the wane, was not to rise until about eleven o'clock at night; the streets the young man was crossing were therefore plunged in the deepest obscurity. The distance, moreover, was short; at the end of ten minutes his carriage, or rather the count's, stopped before the Hotel de Londres.

Dinner was waiting; but as Albert had given warning that he did not expect to return for some time, Franz sat down to table without him.

Master Pastrini, who was accustomed to seeing them dine together, inquired as to the causes of his absence; but Franz contented himself with replying that Albert had received, the day before, an invitation to which he had gone. The sudden extinction of the moccoletti, that darkness which had replaced the light, that silence which had succeeded the noise, had left in Franz's mind a certain sadness not unmixed with uneasiness. He therefore dined very silently in spite of the officious solicitude of his host, who came in two or three times to inquire whether he needed anything.

Franz was resolved to wait for Albert as late as possible. He therefore ordered the carriage for eleven o'clock only, requesting Master Pastrini to let him know at once if Albert reappeared at the hotel for any reason whatsoever. At eleven o'clock Albert had not returned. Franz dressed and set out, informing his host that he was spending the night at the Duke of Bracciano's.

The house of the Duke of Bracciano is one of the most charming in Rome; his wife, one of the last heiresses of the Colonna, does the honors of it in perfect fashion: the result is that the fetes he gives have a European celebrity. Franz and Albert had arrived at Rome with letters of recommendation to him; so his first question was to ask Franz what had become of his traveling companion. Franz answered him that he had left him at the moment when they were about to extinguish the moccoli, and that he had lost sight of him in the Via Macello.

"Then he has not returned?" asked the duke.

"I waited for him until this hour," replied Franz.

"And do you know where he was going?"

"No, not precisely; yet I believe it was something in the nature of a rendezvous."

"The devil!" said the duke, "this is a bad day, or rather a bad night, for lingering, is it not, madame la comtesse?"

These last words were addressed to the Countess G..., who had just arrived, and who was walking on the arm of M. Torlonia, the duke's brother.

"I find, on the contrary, that it is a charming night," answered the countess; "and those who are here will complain of but one thing, that it passes too quickly."

"Also," resumed the duke with a smile, "I do not speak of the persons who are here; they run no other danger, the men than that of becoming enamored of you, the women than that of falling ill with jealousy at seeing you so beautiful; I speak of those who are running the streets of Rome."

"Why, good heavens," asked the countess, "who runs the streets of Rome at this hour, unless it be to go to the ball?"

"Our friend Albert de Morcerf, madame la comtesse, whom I left in pursuit of his unknown at about seven o'clock in the evening," said Franz, "and whom I have not seen since."

"What! and you do not know where he is?"

"Not in the least."

"And has he weapons?"

"He is in harlequin costume."

"You should not have let him go," said the duke to Franz, "you who know Rome better than he."

"Oh! indeed, it would have been as well to try to stop the number three of the barberi who won the race today," answered Franz; "and besides, what do you suppose could happen to him?"

"Who knows! the night is very dark, and the Tiber is quite near the Via Macello."

Franz felt a shiver run through his veins at seeing the duke's and the countess's thoughts so well in accord with his own personal anxieties.

"I have therefore informed the hotel that I had the honor of spending the night with you, Monsieur le Duc," said Franz, "and they are to come and announce his return to me."

"See," said the duke, "I believe that is just one of my servants looking for you."

The duke was not mistaken; on catching sight of Franz, the servant approached him:

"Excellency," said he, "the master of the Hotel de Londres sends word that a man is waiting for him with a letter from the Vicomte de Morcerf."

"With a letter from the viscount!" cried Franz.

"Yes."

"And who is this man?"

"I do not know."

"Why did he not come and bring it to me here?"

"The messenger gave me no explanation."

"And where is the messenger?"

"He left as soon as he saw me enter the ballroom to warn you."

"Oh, my God!" said the countess to Franz, "go quickly. Poor young man, some accident has perhaps befallen him."

"I am running," said Franz.

"Shall we see you again to give us news?" asked the countess.

"Yes, if the matter is not grave; otherwise, I answer for nothing as to what may become of me myself."

"In any case, be prudent," said the countess.

"Oh! be at ease."

Franz took his hat and departed in all haste. He had sent his carriage away, ordering it for two o'clock; but, fortunately, the Palazzo Bracciano, which opens on one side onto the Corso and on the other onto the Piazza dei Santi Apostoli, is scarce ten minutes' walk from the Hotel de Londres. As he drew near the hotel, Franz saw a man standing in the middle of the street; he did not for a single instant doubt that this was Albert's messenger. This man was himself wrapped in a large cloak. He went up to him; but, to Franz's great astonishment, it was this man who spoke to him first.

"What do you want of me, Excellency?" said he, stepping back like a man who wishes to remain on his guard.

"Are you not," asked Franz, "the one who brings me a letter from the Vicomte de Morcerf?"

"Is it Your Excellency who lodges at the Hotel Pastrini?"

"Yes."

"Is it Your Excellency who is the traveling companion of the viscount?"

"Yes."

"What is Your Excellency's name?"

"Baron Franz d'Epinay."

"Then it is to Your Excellency that this letter is addressed."

"Is there a reply?" asked Franz, taking the letter from his hands.

"Yes, at least your friend hopes so."

"Come up to my rooms, then, and I will give it to you."

"I would rather wait here," said the messenger with a laugh.

"Why so?"

"Your Excellency will understand the matter when you have read the letter."

"Then I shall find you here again?"

"Undoubtedly."

Franz went in; on the staircase he met Master Pastrini.

"Well?" asked the latter.

"Well, what?" replied Franz.

"You have seen the man who wished to speak to you on behalf of your friend?" he asked Franz.

"Yes, I have seen him," answered he, "and he handed me this letter. Have a light brought to my room, if you please."

The innkeeper gave orders to a servant to precede Franz with a candle. The young man had found in Master Pastrini a startled air, and that air had given him but a greater desire to read Albert's letter: he approached the candle as soon as it was lit, and unfolded the paper. The letter was written in Albert's hand and signed by him. Franz read it twice over, so far was he from expecting what it contained.

Here it is, textually reproduced:

"Dear friend, as soon as this is received, have the kindness to take from my portfolio, which you will find in the square drawer of the secretary, the letter of credit; add yours to it if it is not sufficient. Run to Torlonia's, take from him at once four thousand piastres and hand them to the bearer. It is urgent that this sum be sent to me without any delay.

"I insist no further, counting on you as you might count on me.

"P.S. I believe now to italian banditti.

"Your friend,

"ALBERT DE MORCERF."

Below these lines were written in a strange hand these few Italian words:

"Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mille piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alle sette il comte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.[1]

"LUIGI VAMPA."

[Note 1: If, by six o'clock in the morning, the four thousand piastres are not in my hands, at seven o'clock the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf will have ceased to exist.]

This second signature explained everything to Franz, who understood the messenger's reluctance to come up to his room; the street seemed to him safer than Franz's chamber. Albert had fallen into the hands of the famous bandit chief whose existence he had so long refused to believe in.

There was no time to lose. He ran to the secretary, opened it, found the portfolio in the indicated drawer, and in the portfolio the letter of credit: it was for six thousand piastres in all, but of these six thousand Albert had already spent three thousand. As for Franz, he had no letter of credit; as he lived in Florence, and had come to Rome to pass only seven or eight days, he had taken about a hundred louis, and of these hundred louis there remained at most fifty.

There was therefore a deficit of seven or eight hundred piastres before Franz and Albert together could raise the demanded sum. It is true that Franz could count, in such a case, on the obligingness of Messrs. Torlonia.

He was preparing, then, to return to the Palazzo Bracciano without losing an instant, when suddenly a luminous idea crossed his mind.

He thought of the Count of Monte Cristo. Franz was about to give orders to have Master Pastrini called, when he saw him appear in person on the threshold of his door.

"My dear Monsieur Pastrini," he said to him quickly, "do you believe the count is at home?"

"Yes, Excellency, he has just returned."

"Has he had time to go to bed?"

"I doubt it."

"Then ring at his door, I pray you, and ask him for permission to present myself to him."

Master Pastrini hastened to follow the instructions given him; five minutes later he was back.

"The count is expecting Your Excellency," said he.

Franz crossed the square, a servant introduced him to the count. He was in a small cabinet that Franz had not yet seen, and which was surrounded by divans. The count came toward him.

"Why, what good wind brings you at this hour," said he; "would you come to ask me to sup, by chance? That would be, upon my soul, very kind of you."

"No, I come to speak to you of a grave matter."

"Of a matter!" said the count, looking at Franz with that deep gaze which was habitual to him; "and of what matter?"

"Are we alone?"

The count went to the door and came back.

"Perfectly alone," said he.

Franz presented Albert's letter to him.

"Read," said he.

The count read the letter.

"Ah! ah!" said he.

"Have you taken note of the postscript?"

"Yes," said he, "I see plainly:

"'Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mille piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alle sette il comte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.

"'LUIGI VAMPA.'

"What say you to that?" asked Franz.

"Have you the sum that was asked of you?"

"Yes, less eight hundred piastres."

The count went to his secretary, opened it, and sliding open a drawer full of gold:

"I hope," said he to Franz, "that you will not do me the injury of addressing yourself to any other than myself?"

"You see, on the contrary, that I came straight to you," said Franz.

"And I thank you for it; take."

And he made a sign to Franz to help himself from the drawer.

"Is it quite necessary to send this sum to Luigi Vampa?" asked the young man, looking in his turn fixedly at the count.

"Why, judge for yourself, the postscript is precise."

"It seems to me that if you took the trouble to seek him out, you would find some means that would greatly simplify the negotiation," said Franz.

"And what?" asked the count, astonished.

"For example, if we were to go find Luigi Vampa together, I am sure he would not refuse you Albert's liberty."

"To me? and what influence do you suppose I can have over that bandit?"

"Did you not just render him one of those services that are not forgotten?"

"And which?"

"Did you not just save Peppino's life?"

"Ah! ah! who told you that?"

"What matters it to you? I know it."

The count remained for an instant silent and frowning.

"And if I were to go find Vampa, would you accompany me?"

"If my company were not too disagreeable to you."

"Well, be it so; the weather is fine, a walk in the countryside of Rome can only do us good."

"Must we take arms?"

"What for?"

"Money?"

"That is useless. Where is the man who brought this note?"

"In the street."

"He is waiting for the answer?"

"Yes."

"We must know a little where we are going; I am going to call him."

"Useless, he would not come up."

"To your rooms, perhaps; but to mine he will make no difficulty."

The count went to the window of the cabinet which looked out on the street, and whistled in a certain fashion. The man in the cloak detached himself from the wall and advanced to the middle of the street.

"Salite!" said the count, in the tone in which he would have given an order to a servant.

The messenger obeyed without delay, without hesitation, even with eagerness, and, clearing the four steps of the porch, entered the hotel. Five seconds later he was at the door of the cabinet.

"Ah! it is you, Peppino!" said the count.

But Peppino, instead of answering, threw himself on his knees, seized the count's hand and applied his lips to it several times.

"Ah! ah!" said the count, "you have not yet forgotten that I saved your life! It is strange, and yet it is just a week ago today."

"No, Excellency, and I shall never forget it," replied Peppino with an accent of profound gratitude.

"Never is a long time! but at least it is already much that you believe it. Rise and answer."

Peppino cast an uneasy glance at Franz.

"Oh! you may speak before His Excellency," said he; "he is a friend of mine.

"You will permit me to give you that title," said the count in French, turning toward Franz; "it is necessary to excite this man's confidence."

"You may speak before me," resumed Franz; "I am a friend of the count."

"Very well," said Peppino, turning in his turn toward the count; "let Your Excellency question me, and I will answer."

"How did the Vicomte Albert fall into Luigi's hands?"

"Excellency, the Frenchman's calash crossed several times that in which Teresa was."

"The chief's mistress?"

"Yes. The Frenchman made eyes at her, Teresa amused herself by answering; the Frenchman threw her bouquets, she returned them: all this, understand, with the chief's consent, who was in the same calash."

"What!" cried Franz, "Luigi Vampa was in the calash of the Roman peasant women?"

"He was driving it, disguised as a coachman," answered Peppino.

"After?" asked the count.

"Well, after, the Frenchman unmasked; Teresa, always with the chief's consent, did the same; the Frenchman asked for a rendezvous, Teresa granted the requested rendezvous; only, instead of Teresa, it was Beppo who was found on the steps of the Church of San Giacomo."

"What!" interrupted Franz again, "that peasant woman who snatched his moccoletto from him?..."

"It was a boy of fifteen," answered Peppino; "but there is no shame for your friend in having been taken in; Beppo has caught many others, I assure you."

"And Beppo conducted him outside the walls?" said the count.

"Exactly; a calash was waiting at the end of the Via Macello; Beppo got into it, inviting the Frenchman to follow him; he did not need to be told twice. He gallantly offered the right hand to Beppo, and placed himself beside him. Beppo then announced to him that he was going to conduct him to a villa situated a league from Rome. The Frenchman assured Beppo that he was ready to follow him to the end of the world. Thereupon the coachman remounted the Via di Ripetta, gained the Porta San Paolo; and two hundred paces into the country, as the Frenchman was becoming too enterprising, faith, Beppo put a pair of pistols to his throat; immediately the coachman stopped his horses, turned on his seat and did the same. At the same time four of ours, who were hidden on the banks of the Almo, sprang to the doors. The Frenchman had a good mind to struggle; he even, so I have heard, half strangled Beppo; but there was nothing to be done against five armed men. He had to yield; they made him get down from the carriage, followed the banks of the little river, and conducted him to Teresa and Luigi, who were waiting for him in the catacombs of Saint Sebastian."

"Well, but," said the count, turning toward Franz, "it seems to me that it is as good as another, this story. What say you, who are a connoisseur?"

"I say that I should find it very droll," replied Franz, "if it had happened to anyone but that poor Albert."

"The fact is," said the count, "that if you had not found me there, it was a piece of good fortune that cost your friend rather dear; but reassure yourself, he will get off with the fright."

"And we are going to look for him all the same?" asked Franz.

"Pardieu! all the more since he is in a very picturesque spot. Do you know the catacombs of Saint Sebastian?"

"No, I have never gone down into them, but I promised myself to do so one day."

"Well, here is the opportunity ready made, and it would be difficult to meet with a better one. Have you your carriage?"

"No."

"That matters not; they are accustomed to keep one harnessed for me, night and day."

"Always harnessed?"

"Yes, I am a very capricious being; I must tell you that sometimes on rising, at the end of my dinner, in the middle of the night, I take a fancy to set out for some point of the globe, and I set out."

The count rang a peal; his valet de chambre appeared.

"Have the carriage brought out of the coach-house," said he, "and take out the pistols that are in the pockets, it is useless to wake the coachman, Ali will drive."

At the end of an instant they heard the noise of the carriage stopping before the door.

The count drew his watch.

"Half past midnight," said he; "we could have set out from here at five in the morning and still arrive in time; but perhaps this delay would have given your companion a bad night, it is therefore better to go at a run and draw him from the hands of the infidels. Are you still decided to accompany me?"

"More than ever."

"Well, then, come."

Franz and the count went out, followed by Peppino.

At the door they found the carriage. Ali was on the box. Franz recognized the mute slave of the grotto of Monte Cristo.

Franz and the count got into the carriage, which was a coupé, Peppino placed himself beside Ali, and they set off at a gallop. Ali had received orders in advance, for he took the Corso, crossed the Campo Vaccino, remounted the Strada San Gregorio and arrived at the Porta San Sebastiano; there the porter wished to make some difficulties, but the Count of Monte Cristo presented an authorization from the governor of Rome to enter the city and leave it at any hour of the day or night; the portcullis was therefore raised, the porter received a louis for his trouble, and they passed.

The road the carriage followed was the ancient Appian Way, bordered all along with tombs. From time to time, by the light of the moon which was beginning to rise, it seemed to Franz that he saw a sentinel detach himself from a ruin, but immediately, at a sign exchanged between Peppino and this sentinel, he re-entered the shadow and disappeared.

A little before the Circus of Caracalla, the carriage stopped; Peppino came to open the door, and the count and Franz got down.

"In ten minutes," said the count to his companion, "we shall have arrived."

Then he took Peppino aside, gave him an order in a low voice, and Peppino set off after arming himself with a torch drawn from the boot of the coupé.

Five minutes more elapsed, during which Franz saw the shepherd disappear by a little path amid the inequalities of ground which form the convulsed soil of the Roman plain, and vanish in those tall reddish grasses which seem the bristling mane of some gigantic lion.

"Now," said the count, "let us follow him."

Franz and the count engaged in their turn on the same path which, at the end of a hundred paces, led them by a sloping descent to the bottom of a little valley.

Soon they perceived two men conversing in the shadow.

"Should we continue to advance?" asked Franz of the count, "or must we wait?"

"Let us walk; Peppino must have warned the sentinel of our arrival."

In fact, one of these two men was Peppino, the other was a bandit placed on outpost.

Franz and the count approached; the bandit saluted.

"Excellency," said Peppino, addressing the count, "if you will follow me, the opening of the catacombs is a few steps from here."

"Very well," said the count, "march before."

Indeed, behind a thicket of bushes and amid some rocks offered an opening through which a man could scarce pass.

Peppino slipped through this crevice first, but scarcely had he made a few steps than the underground passage widened. Then he stopped, lit his torch and turned to see if he were followed.

The count had engaged first in a sort of air-hole, and Franz came after him.

The ground sank by a gentle slope and widened as one advanced; but nevertheless Franz and the count were still forced to walk bent and would have found it hard to pass two abreast. They went thus for a hundred and fifty paces more, then they were stopped by the cry of: "Who goes there?"

At the same time they saw, amid the obscurity, shine on the barrel of a carbine the reflection of their own torch.

"Friend!" said Peppino.

And he advanced alone and said a few words in a low voice to this second sentinel, who, like the first, saluted, making a sign to the nocturnal visitors that they might continue their way.

Behind the sentinel was a staircase of some twenty steps; Franz and the count descended the twenty steps, and found themselves in a sort of mortuary crossroads. Five roads diverged like the rays of a star, and the walls, hollowed with superimposed niches having the form of coffins, indicated that one had at last entered the catacombs.

In one of these cavities, whose extent it was impossible to distinguish, one saw, by day, some reflections of light.

The count placed his hand on Franz's shoulder.

"Do you wish to see a camp of bandits at rest?" said he to him.

"Certainly," replied Franz.

"Well, come with me.... Peppino, extinguish the torch."

Peppino obeyed, and Franz and the count found themselves in the deepest obscurity; only, about fifty paces ahead of them, some reddish gleams continued to dance along the walls, become still more visible since Peppino had extinguished his torch.

They advanced in silence, the count guiding Franz as if he had had that singular faculty of seeing in the dark. Moreover, Franz himself distinguished his path more easily as he drew near these reflections which served them as guides.

Three arcades, of which the middle one served as a door, gave them passage.

These arcades opened on one side onto the corridor where were the count and Franz, and on the other onto a large square chamber entirely surrounded by niches like those of which we have already spoken. In the middle of this chamber rose four stones which had formerly served as an altar, as indicated by the cross which still surmounted them.

A single lamp, placed on a column shaft, lit with a pale and wavering light the strange scene offered to the eyes of the two visitors hidden in the shadow.

A man was seated, his elbow leaning on this column, and reading, turning his back to the arcades through the opening of which the new arrivals looked at him.

It was the chief of the band, Luigi Vampa.

All around him, grouped according to their fancy, lying in their cloaks or leaning against a sort of stone bench which ran all around the columbarium, could be distinguished some twenty brigands; each had his carbine within reach of his hand.

At the back, silent, scarce visible and like a shadow, a sentinel walked to and fro before a sort of opening which could only be distinguished because the darkness seemed thicker at that spot.

When the count believed that Franz had sufficiently feasted his eyes on this picturesque tableau, he raised his finger to his lips to recommend silence to him, and mounting the three steps which led from the corridor to the columbarium, he entered the chamber by the middle arcade and advanced toward Vampa, who was so deeply plunged in his reading that he heard not the sound of his steps.

"Who goes there?" cried the sentinel, less preoccupied, and who saw by the lamp's gleam a sort of shadow which grew behind his chief.

At this cry Vampa rose quickly, drawing a pistol from his belt at the same moment.

In an instant all the bandits were on their feet, and twenty carbine barrels were aimed at the count.

"Well," said the latter tranquilly, in a perfectly calm voice and without a single muscle of his face moving; "well, my dear Vampa, it seems to me there are great preparations for receiving a friend!"

"Arms down!" cried the chief, making an imperative sign with one hand, while with the other he respectfully removed his hat.

Then, turning toward the singular personage who dominated the whole scene:

"Pardon, Monsieur le Comte," said he to him, "but I was so far from expecting the honor of your visit, that I did not recognize you."

"It appears that you have a short memory in all things, Vampa," said the count, "and that not only do you forget the faces of people, but also the conditions made with them."

"And what conditions have I forgotten, Monsieur le Comte?" asked the bandit, like a man who, if he has committed an error, asks nothing better than to repair it.

"Was it not agreed," said the count, "that not only my person, but also that of my friends, should be sacred to you?"

"And wherein have I failed in the treaty, Excellency?"

"You abducted this evening and transported hither the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf; well," continued the count with an accent which made Franz shiver, "this young man is of my friends, this young man lodges in the same hotel as I, this young man has done the Corso for eight days in my own calash, and yet, I repeat to you, you abducted him, you transported him hither, and," added the count, drawing the letter from his pocket, "you held him to ransom as if he were the first comer."

"Why did you not warn me of this, you others?" said the chief, turning toward his men, who all recoiled before his gaze; "why have you exposed me thus to fail in my word to a man like M. le Comte, who holds our lives all in his hands? By the blood of Christ! if I believed that one of you had known that the young man was the friend of His Excellency, I would blow his brains out with my own hand."

"Well," said the count, turning toward Franz, "I told you there was some error beneath all this."

"Are you alone?" asked Vampa with uneasiness.

"I am with the person to whom this letter was addressed, and to whom I wished to prove that Luigi Vampa is a man of his word. Come, Excellency," said he to Franz, "here is Luigi Vampa who is going to tell you himself that he is desolated at the error he has just committed."

Franz approached; the chief made a few steps toward Franz.

"Be welcome among us, Excellency," said he; "you have heard what the count has just said, and what I answered him: I shall add that I would not, for the four thousand piastres at which I had fixed your friend's ransom, that such a thing had happened."

"But," said Franz, looking all around him with uneasiness, "where then is the prisoner? I do not see him."

"Nothing has happened to him, I hope!" asked the count, frowning.

"The prisoner is there," said Vampa, pointing with his hand to the recess before which the bandit on duty was walking; "and I am going myself to announce to him that he is free."

The chief advanced toward the spot designated by him as serving for Albert's prison, and Franz and the count followed him.

"What is the prisoner doing?" asked Vampa of the sentinel.

"Faith, captain," replied the latter, "I know nothing; for more than an hour I have not heard him stir."

"Come, Excellency!" said Vampa.

The count and Franz mounted seven or eight steps, still preceded by the chief, who drew a bolt and pushed open a door.

Then, by the light of a lamp like that which lit the columbarium, could be seen Albert, wrapped in a cloak which one of the bandits had lent him, lying in a corner and sleeping the deepest of sleeps.

"Come!" said the count, smiling that smile which was peculiar to him; "not bad for a man who was to be shot at seven in the morning."

Vampa looked at Albert asleep with a certain admiration; one saw that he was not insensible to this proof of courage.

"You are right, Monsieur le Comte," said he; "this man must be of your friends."

Then, approaching Albert and touching him on the shoulder:

"Excellency!" said he, "will it please you to awake?"

Albert stretched his arms, rubbed his eyelids and opened his eyes.

"Ah! ah!" said he; "it is you, captain! pardieu, you might well have let me sleep; I was having a charming dream: I dreamed that I was dancing the galop at Torlonia's with the Countess G...!"

He drew his watch, which he had kept to judge for himself the time elapsed.

"Half past one in the morning!" said he; "but why the devil do you wake me at this hour?"

"To tell you that you are free, Excellency."

"My dear fellow," replied Albert with perfect presence of mind, "retain for the future this maxim of Napoleon the Great: 'Awake me only for bad news.' If you had let me sleep, I finished my galop, and I should have been grateful to you all my life.... Has my ransom then been paid?"

"No, Excellency."

"Well, then, how am I free?"

"Some one, to whom I have nothing to refuse, has come to claim you."

"Hither?"

"Hither."

"Ah! pardieu, that some one is very kind!"

Albert looked all around him and perceived Franz.

"Why," said he to him, "is it you, my dear Franz, who push devotion so far?"

"No, not I," answered Franz; "but our neighbor, M. le Comte de Monte Cristo."

"Ah pardieu! Monsieur le Comte," said Albert gaily, adjusting his cravat and his wristbands, "you are a truly precious man, and I hope you will regard me as your eternal debtor, first for the affair of the carriage, then for this one!" and he held out his hand to the count, who shivered at the moment of giving him his, but who nevertheless gave it to him.

The bandit looked at all this scene with a stupefied air; he was evidently accustomed to see his prisoners tremble before him, and behold there was one whose raillery had undergone no alteration: as for Franz, he was delighted that Albert had sustained, even before a bandit, the national honor.

"My dear Albert," said he to him, "if you will make haste, we shall still have time to go finish the night at Torlonia's; you will take up your galop where you interrupted it, so that you will bear no grudge to the lord Luigi, who has truly, in all this affair, conducted himself like a gentleman."

"Ah! truly," said he, "you are right, and we can be there by two o'clock. Lord Luigi," continued Albert, "is there any other formality to fulfill to take leave of Your Excellency?"

"None, sir," replied the bandit, "and you are free as the air."

"In that case, good and merry life; come, gentlemen, come!"

And Albert, followed by Franz and the count, descended the staircase and crossed the large square chamber; all the bandits were standing and hat in hand.

"Peppino," said the chief, "give me the torch."

"Why, what are you doing?" asked the count.

"I am escorting you," said the captain; "it is the least honor I can render to Your Excellency."

And taking the lighted torch from the shepherd's hands, he marched before his guests, not like a valet accomplishing an act of servility, but like a king preceding ambassadors.

Arrived at the door he bowed.

"And now, Monsieur le Comte," said he, "I renew my excuses to you, and hope that you bear me no resentment for what has just happened."

"No, my dear Vampa," said the count; "besides you redeem your errors in so gallant a fashion, that one is almost tempted to be grateful to you for having committed them."

"Gentlemen!" resumed the chief, turning toward the young men; "perhaps the offer will not seem very attractive to you; but, should you ever take a fancy to pay me a second visit, wherever I may be you will be welcome."

Franz and Albert bowed. The count went out first, Albert next; Franz remained last.

"Has Your Excellency something to ask me?" said Vampa, smiling.

"Yes, I confess it," replied Franz; "I should be curious to know what was the work you were reading with such attention when we arrived."

"The Commentaries of Caesar," said the bandit; "it is my favorite book."

"Well, are you not coming?" asked Albert.

"Yes, indeed," replied Franz; "here I am!"

And he went out in his turn from the air-hole.

They made a few steps in the plain.

"Ah! pardon!" said Albert, going back; "will you permit, captain?"

And he lit his cigar at Vampa's torch.

"Now, Monsieur le Comte," said he, "the greatest possible dispatch! I am enormously bent on going to finish my night at the Duke of Bracciano's."

They found the carriage where they had left it; the count said a single word in Arabic to Ali, and the horses set off at full speed.

It was exactly two o'clock by Albert's watch when the two friends re-entered the dancing hall.

Their return made an event; but, as they entered together, all the uneasiness that might have been felt about Albert ceased instantly.

"Madame," said the Vicomte de Morcerf, advancing toward the countess, "yesterday you had the kindness to promise me a galop; I come somewhat late to claim that gracious promise; but here is my friend, whose veracity you know, who will affirm to you that it is not my fault."

And as at that moment the music gave the signal for the waltz, Albert passed his arm around the countess's waist and disappeared with her in the whirl of the dancers.

During this time Franz thought of the singular shiver which had passed through the whole body of the Count of Monte Cristo at the moment when he had been, so to speak, forced to give his hand to Albert.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”