LXXXVII. La provocation.

LXXXVII

The Provocation.

“Well,” Beauchamp went on, “I took advantage of the silence and the darkness of the room to slip out unseen. The usher who had shown me in was waiting at the door. He led me, through the corridors, to a small door opening onto the rue de Vaugirard. I came out with a soul at once broken and enraptured—forgive me that expression, Albert—broken with regard to you, enraptured at the nobility of that young girl pursuing her father’s vengeance. Yes, I swear to you, Albert, from whatever quarter this revelation comes, I say that it may come from an enemy, but that that enemy is only the agent of Providence.”

Albert held his head between his two hands; he raised his face, red with shame and bathed in tears, and seized Beauchamp’s arm.

“Friend,” he said to him, “my life is over: it remains for me, not to say as you do that Providence has struck me, but to seek out what man pursues me with his enmity; then, when I know him, I shall kill that man, or that man will kill me; now, I count on your friendship, Beauchamp, if contempt has not killed it in your heart.

“Contempt, my friend? And how should this misfortune touch you? No! Thank God! We are no longer in the times when an unjust prejudice made sons responsible for the deeds of their fathers. Review your whole life, Albert; it dates from yesterday, it is true, but never was the dawn of a fair day purer than your dawn. No, Albert, believe me, you are young, you are rich, leave France: everything is quickly forgotten in this great Babylon of restless existence and changing tastes; you will come back in three or four years, you will have married some Russian princess, and no one will think any more of what happened yesterday, still less of what happened sixteen years ago.

“Thank you, dear Beauchamp, thank you for the excellent intention that dictates your words, but it cannot be thus; I told you my wish, and now, if need be, I shall change the word wish to will. You understand that, interested as I am in this affair, I cannot see things from the same point of view as you. What seems to you to come from a celestial source seems to me to come from a less pure source. Providence appears to me, I confess, quite foreign to all this, and happily so, for instead of the invisible and impalpable messenger of heavenly rewards and punishments, I shall find a palpable and visible being, on whom I shall be avenged—oh yes, I swear to you—for all that I have suffered for a month. Now, I repeat to you, Beauchamp, I am bent on re-entering human and material life, and, if you are still my friend as you say, help me to find the hand that struck the blow.

“Then so be it!” said Beauchamp; “and if you absolutely require me to come down to earth, I shall do it; if you are set on seeking out an enemy, I shall set about it with you. And I shall find him, for my honor is almost as concerned as yours that we find him.

“Well then, Beauchamp, you understand—this instant, without delay, let us begin our investigations. Every minute of delay is an eternity to me; the informer is not yet punished, he may therefore hope that he will not be; and, on my honor, if he hopes so, he is mistaken!

“Well, listen to me, Morcerf.

“Ah! Beauchamp, I see you know something; there, you restore me to life!

“I do not say it is certainty, Albert, but it is at least a light in the night: by following that light, perhaps it will lead us to our goal.

“Speak! You see I am boiling with impatience.

“Well, I am going to tell you what I would not tell you on the way back from Janina.

“Speak.

“This is what happened, Albert; I naturally went to the chief banker of the town to obtain information; at the first word I uttered about the matter, before even your father’s name had been spoken:

“‘Ah!’ said he, ‘very well, I guess what brings you.’

“‘How so, and why?’

“‘Because barely a fortnight ago I was questioned on the same subject.’

“‘By whom?’

“‘By a banker in Paris, my correspondent.’

“‘Whom you name?’

“‘M. Danglars.’

“Him!” cried Albert; “indeed, it is he who has so long pursued my poor father with his jealous hatred; he, the so-called popular man, who cannot forgive Count de Morcerf for being a peer of France. And see, this breaking-off of the marriage with no reason given; yes, that is it.

“Inquire, Albert (but do not fly into a passion beforehand), inquire, I say, and if the thing is true...

“Oh! yes, if the thing is true!” cried the young man; “he shall pay me for all I have suffered.

“Take care, Morcerf; he is already an old man.

“I shall have regard to his age as he had regard to the honor of my family; if he bore a grudge against my father, why did he not strike my father? Oh no, he was afraid to find himself face to face with a man!

“Albert, I do not condemn you, I only restrain you; Albert, act prudently.

“Oh! do not be afraid; besides, you will accompany me, Beauchamp; solemn matters must be treated before a witness. Before the end of this day, if M. Danglars is the guilty one, M. Danglars shall have ceased to live or I shall be dead. By heaven, Beauchamp, I mean to give my honor a fine funeral!

“Well then, when such resolutions are taken, Albert, they must be carried out at once. You wish to go to M. Danglars? Let us go.”

They sent for a hackney cabriolet. On entering the banker’s hotel, they caught sight of M. Andrea Cavalcanti’s phaeton and servant at the door.

“Ah! by Jove! that is a good thing,” said Albert in a gloomy voice. “If M. Danglars will not fight me, I shall kill his son-in-law. A Cavalcanti ought to fight, surely.”

The young man was announced to the banker, who, at the name of Albert, knowing what had happened the day before, ordered his door to be closed against him. But it was too late; Albert had followed the lackey; he heard the order given, forced the door, and penetrated, followed by Beauchamp, as far as the banker’s study.

“But, sir!” cried the latter, “is one no longer master in one’s own house to receive whom one will or will not? It seems to me you strangely forget yourself.

“No, sir,” said Albert coldly, “there are circumstances, and you are in one of them, when, save by cowardice—I offer you that refuge—one must be at home, at least for certain persons.”

“Then what do you want of me, sir?

“I want,” said Morcerf, approaching without seeming to notice Cavalcanti, who was leaning against the fireplace, “I want to propose a meeting to you in some retired spot, where no one will disturb you for ten minutes—I ask no more; where, of the two men who have met, one will remain beneath the leaves.”

Danglars turned pale; Cavalcanti made a movement. Albert turned toward the young man:

“Oh! my God!” said he, “come if you like, Count; you have the right to be there, you are almost of the family, and I give such meeting-invitations to as many as shall be found to accept them.”

Cavalcanti looked in stupefaction at Danglars, who, making an effort, rose and advanced between the two young men. Albert’s attack on Andrea had just placed him on different ground, and he hoped that Albert’s visit had a cause other than that he had at first supposed.

“Come now, sir!” said he to Albert, “if you come here to pick a quarrel with this gentleman because I preferred him to you, I warn you I shall make it a matter for the public prosecutor.”

“You are mistaken, sir,” said Morcerf with a gloomy smile; “I speak not at all of the marriage, and I address myself to M. Cavalcanti only because he seemed for an instant to intend to intervene in our discussion. And then, besides, you are right,” said he, “I seek a quarrel with everyone today; but be easy, M. Danglars, priority belongs to you.”

“Sir,” replied Danglars, pale with anger and fear, “I warn you that when I have the misfortune to meet a mad dog in my path, I kill it, and far from thinking myself guilty, I believe I have rendered a service to society. Now, if you are mad and tend to bite me, I warn you, I shall kill you without pity. Come now! Is it my fault if your father is dishonored?

“Yes, wretch!” cried Morcerf; “it is your fault!”

Danglars stepped back a pace.

“My fault? Mine?” said he; “but you are mad! Do I know Greek history? Have I traveled in all those countries? Was it I who advised your father to sell the castles of Janina? to betray...”

“Silence!” said Albert in a hollow voice. “It was not you who directly caused this outburst and this misfortune, but it was you who hypocritically provoked it.

“I?”

“Yes, you! Whence came the revelation?

“But it seems to me the newspaper told you: from Janina, by Jove!

“Who wrote to Janina?

“To Janina?

“Yes. Who wrote to ask for information about my father?

“It seems to me anyone can write to Janina.

“One person only, however, wrote.

“One only?

“Yes! And that person is you.

“I wrote, no doubt; it seems to me that when one marries one’s daughter to a young man, one may take information about that young man’s family; it is not only a right, but a duty.

“You wrote, sir,” said Albert, perfectly knowing the answer that would come, “knowing perfectly well what reply would come to you.”

“I? Ah! I swear to you,” cried Danglars with a confidence and security that perhaps came even less from his fear than from the interest he felt at bottom for the unhappy young man; “I swear to you that never should I have thought of writing to Janina. Do I know the catastrophe of Ali-Pacha?”

“Then someone urged you to write?

“Certainly.

“You were urged?

“Yes.

“Who?... Finish... say...

“By Jove! Nothing simpler. I was speaking of your father’s past; I said that the source of his fortune had always remained obscure. The person asked me where your father had made that fortune. I answered: ‘In Greece.’ Then he said: ‘Well, write to Janina.’

“And who gave you that advice?

“By Jove! The Count of Monte-Cristo, your friend.

“The Count of Monte-Cristo told you to write to Janina?

“Yes, and I wrote. Do you wish to see my correspondence? I will show it to you.”

Albert and Beauchamp looked at each other.

“Sir,” said Beauchamp then, who had not yet spoken, “it seems to me you are accusing the Count, who is absent from Paris, and who cannot clear himself at this moment?

“I accuse no one, sir,” said Danglars; “I relate, and I shall repeat before the Count of Monte-Cristo what I have just said before you.

“And did the Count know what answer you received?

“I showed it to him.

“Did he know that my father’s Christian name was Fernand, and his family name Mondego?

“Yes, I had told him so long since; I did in that no more than anyone else would have done in my place, and perhaps much less. When, the day after that answer, urged by M. de Monte-Cristo, your father came to ask me formally for my daughter, as is done when one wishes to conclude, I refused, I refused flatly, it is true, but without explanation, without outcry. Indeed, why should I have made an outcry? In what does the honor or dishonor of M. de Morcerf concern me? That neither raised nor lowered the funds.”

Albert felt the blood mount to his brow; there was no longer any doubt, Danglars defended himself with the baseness, but with the assurance, of a man who tells, if not the whole truth, at least a part of it—not from conscience, it is true, but from terror. Besides, what did Morcerf seek? It was not the greater or lesser guilt of Danglars or of Monte-Cristo, it was a man who should answer for the slight or grave offense, it was a man who should fight, and it was evident that Danglars would not fight.

And then, each of the things forgotten or unnoticed became visible to his eyes or present to his memory. Monte-Cristo knew everything, since he had bought the daughter of Ali-Pacha; now, knowing everything, he had advised Danglars to write to Janina. That answer known, he had acceded to the wish manifested by Albert to be presented to Haydée; once before her, he had let the conversation fall upon the death of Ali, not opposing Haydée’s account (but having no doubt, in the few Romaic words he had pronounced, given the young girl instructions which had not permitted Morcerf to recognize his father); besides, had he not begged Morcerf not to pronounce his father’s name before Haydée? Finally, he had carried Albert off to Normandy at the very moment when he knew the great explosion must take place. There was no doubting it, all this was a calculation, and, beyond doubt, Monte-Cristo was in league with his father’s enemies.

Albert took Beauchamp into a corner and communicated all his ideas to him.

“You are right,” said the latter; “M. Danglars, in what has happened, is only for the brutal and material part; it is of M. de Monte-Cristo that you must demand an explanation.”

Albert turned round.

“Sir,” said he to Danglars, “you understand that I do not yet take a definitive leave of you; it remains for me to know whether your accusations are just, and I am going this instant to assure myself of it at the Count of Monte-Cristo’s.”

And, saluting the banker, he went out with Beauchamp, without seeming otherwise to concern himself with Cavalcanti.

Danglars saw them to the door, and, at the door, renewed to Albert the assurance that no motive of personal hatred animated him against the Count de Morcerf.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”