The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I was forced to read the address to know whom to give it.”
“Have you shown this letter to any one?” asked Villefort, becoming still more pale.
“To no one, on my honour.”
“Everybody is ignorant that you are the bearer of a letter from the Isle of Elba, and addressed to M. Noirtier?”
“Everybody, except the person who gave it to me.”
“This is too much,” murmured Villefort.
Villefort’s brow darkened more and more, his white lips and clenched teeth filled Dantès with apprehension.
After reading the letter, Villefort covered his face with his hands.
“Oh!” said Dantès timidly, “what is the matter?”
Villefort made no answer, but raised his head at the expiration of a few seconds, and again perused the letter.
“You give me your honour that you are ignorant of the contents of this letter?”
“I give you my honour, sir,” said Dantès, “but what is the matter? You are ill;—shall I ring for assistance?—shall I call?”
“No,” said Villefort, rising hastily; “stay where you are. It is for me to give orders here, and not you.”
“Monsieur,” replied Dantès proudly, “it was only to summon assistance for you.”
“I want none; it was a temporary indisposition. Attend to yourself; answer me.”
Dantès waited, expecting a question, but in vain. Villefort fell back on his chair, passed his hand over his brow, moist with perspiration, and, for the third time, read the letter.
“Oh! if he knows the contents of this!” murmured he, “and that Noirtier is the father of Villefort, I am lost!” And he fixed his eyes upon Edmond as if he would have penetrated his thoughts.
“Oh! it is impossible to doubt it,” cried he suddenly.
“In Heaven’s name!” cried the unhappy young man, “if you doubt me, question me; I will answer you.”
Villefort made a violent effort, and in a tone he strove to render firm:
“Sir,” said he, “I am no longer able, as I had hoped, to restore you immediately to liberty; before doing so, I must consult the judge of instruction; but you see how I behave towards you.”
“Oh! monsieur,” cried Dantès, “you have been rather a friend than a judge.”
“Well, I must detain you some time longer, but I will strive to make it as short as possible. The principal charge against you is this letter, and you see———”
Villefort approached the fire, cast it in, and waited until it was entirely consumed.
“You see, I destroy it?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Dantès, “you are goodness itself.”
“Listen,” continued Villefort, “you can now have confidence in me after what I have done.”
“Oh! order me, and I will obey.”
“Listen! this is not an order, but a counsel I give you.”
“Speak, and I will follow your advice.”
“I shall detain you until this evening in the Palais de Justice. Should any one else interrogate you, do not breathe a word of this letter.”
“I promise.”
It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner who reassured him.
“You see,” continued he, “the letter is destroyed; you and I alone knew of its existence: should you, therefore, be questioned, deny all knowledge of it.”
“Fear nothing, I will deny it.”
“It was the only letter you had?”
“It was.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear it.”
Villefort rang. An agent of police entered. Villefort whispered some words in his ear, to which the officer replied by a motion of his head.
“Follow him,” said Villefort to Dantès.
Dantès saluted Villefort and retired.
Hardly had the door closed, than Villefort threw himself into a chair.
“Alas! alas!” murmured he, “if the procureur du roi had been at Marseilles, I should have been ruined. This accursed letter would have destroyed all my hopes. Oh! my father, must your past career always interfere with my successes?”
Suddenly a light passed over his face, a smile played round his mouth, and his lips became unclenched.
“This will do,” said he, “and from this letter, which might have ruined me, I will make my fortune.”
And after having assured himself the prisoner was gone, the deputy procureur hastened to the house of his bride.
THE COMMISSARY OF police, as he traversed the antechamber, made a sign to two gendarmes, who placed themselves one on Dantès right and the other on his left. A door that communicated with the Palais de Justice was opened, and they traversed a long range of gloomy corridors, whose appearance might have made even the boldest shudder.
The Palais de Justice communicated with the prison,—a sombre edifice, that from its grated windows looks on the clock-tower of the Accoules.
After numberless windings, Dantès saw an iron door. The commissary knocked thrice, every blow seeming to Dantès as if struck on his heart. The door opened, the two gendarmes gently pushed him forward, and the door closed with a loud sound behind him. The air he inhaled was no longer pure, but thick and mephitic,—he was in prison.
He was conducted to a tolerably neat chamber, but grated and barred, and its appearance, therefore, did not greatly alarm him; besides the words of Villefort, who seemed to interest himself so much, resounded still in his ears like a promise of freedom.
It was four o’clock when Dantès was placed in this chamber. It was, as we have said, the 1st of March, and the prisoner was soon buried in darkness.
The obscurity augmented the acuteness of his hearing: at the slightest sound he rose and hastened to the door, convinced they were about to liberate him, but the sound died away, and Dantès sank again into his seat.
At last, about ten o’clock, and just as Dantès began to despair, steps were heard in the corridor, a key turned in the lock, the bolts creaked, the massive oaken door flew open, and a flood of light from two torches pervaded the apartment.
By the torchlight Dantès saw the glittering sabres and carbines of four gendarmes. He had advanced at first, but stopped at the sight of this fresh accession of force.
“Are you come to fetch me?” asked he.
“Yes,” replied a gendarme.
“By the orders of the deputy of the king’s procureur?”
“I believe so.”
The conviction that they came from M. de Villefort relieved all Dantès’ apprehensions, he advanced calmly and placed himself in the centre of the escort.
A carriage waited at the door, the coachman was on the box, and an exempt seated behind him.
“Is this carriage for me?” said Dantès.
“It is for you,” replied a gendarme.
Dantès