The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 5. The Marriage Feast-2

Around the table reigned that noisy hilarity which usually prevails at

such a time among people sufficiently free from the demands of social

position not to feel the trammels of etiquette. Such as at the

commencement of the repast had not been able to seat themselves

according to their inclination rose unceremoniously, and sought out more

agreeable companions. Everybody talked at once, without waiting for a

reply and each one seemed to be contented with expressing his or her own

thoughts.

Fernand’s paleness appeared to have communicated itself to Danglars. As

for Fernand himself, he seemed to be enduring the tortures of the

damned; unable to rest, he was among the first to quit the table, and,

as though seeking to avoid the hilarious mirth that rose in such

deafening sounds, he continued, in utter silence, to pace the farther

end of the salon.

Caderousse approached him just as Danglars, whom Fernand seemed most

anxious to avoid, had joined him in a corner of the room.

“Upon my word,” said Caderousse, from whose mind the friendly treatment

of Dantès, united with the effect of the excellent wine he had partaken

of, had effaced every feeling of envy or jealousy at Dantès’ good

fortune,—“upon my word, Dantès is a downright good fellow, and when I

see him sitting there beside his pretty wife that is so soon to be. I

cannot help thinking it would have been a great pity to have served him

that trick you were planning yesterday.”

“Oh, there was no harm meant,” answered Danglars; “at first I certainly

did feel somewhat uneasy as to what Fernand might be tempted to do; but

when I saw how completely he had mastered his feelings, even so far as

to become one of his rival’s attendants, I knew there was no further

cause for apprehension.” Caderousse looked full at Fernand—he was

ghastly pale.

“Certainly,” continued Danglars, “the sacrifice was no trifling one,

when the beauty of the bride is concerned. Upon my soul, that future

captain of mine is a lucky dog! Gad! I only wish he would let me take

his place.”

“Shall we not set forth?” asked the sweet, silvery voice of Mercédès;

“two o’clock has just struck, and you know we are expected in a quarter

of an hour.”

“To be sure!—to be sure!” cried Dantès, eagerly quitting the table; “let

us go directly!”

His words were re-echoed by the whole party, with vociferous cheers.

At this moment Danglars, who had been incessantly observing every change

in Fernand’s look and manner, saw him stagger and fall back, with an

almost convulsive spasm, against a seat placed near one of the open

windows. At the same instant his ear caught a sort of indistinct sound

on the stairs, followed by the measured tread of soldiery, with the

clanking of swords and military accoutrements; then came a hum and buzz

as of many voices, so as to deaden even the noisy mirth of the bridal

party, among whom a vague feeling of curiosity and apprehension quelled

every disposition to talk, and almost instantaneously the most deathlike

stillness prevailed.

The sounds drew nearer. Three blows were struck upon the panel of the

door. The company looked at each other in consternation.

“I demand admittance,” said a loud voice outside the room, “in the name

of the law!” As no attempt was made to prevent it, the door was opened,

and a magistrate, wearing his official scarf, presented himself,

followed by four soldiers and a corporal. Uneasiness now yielded to the

most extreme dread on the part of those present.

“May I venture to inquire the reason of this unexpected visit?” said M.

Morrel, addressing the magistrate, whom he evidently knew; “there is

doubtless some mistake easily explained.”

“If it be so,” replied the magistrate, “rely upon every reparation being

made; meanwhile, I am the bearer of an order of arrest, and although I

most reluctantly perform the task assigned me, it must, nevertheless, be

fulfilled. Who among the persons here assembled answers to the name of

Edmond Dantès?”

Every eye was turned towards the young man who, spite of the agitation

he could not but feel, advanced with dignity, and said, in a firm voice:

“I am he; what is your pleasure with me?”

“Edmond Dantès,” replied the magistrate, “I arrest you in the name of

the law!”

“Me!” repeated Edmond, slightly changing color, “and wherefore, I pray?”

“I cannot inform you, but you will be duly acquainted with the reasons

that have rendered such a step necessary at the preliminary

examination.”

M. Morrel felt that further resistance or remonstrance was useless. He

saw before him an officer delegated to enforce the law, and perfectly

well knew that it would be as unavailing to seek pity from a magistrate

decked with his official scarf, as to address a petition to some cold

marble effigy. Old Dantès, however, sprang forward. There are situations

which the heart of a father or a mother cannot be made to understand. He

prayed and supplicated in terms so moving, that even the officer was

touched, and, although firm in his duty, he kindly said, “My worthy

friend, let me beg of you to calm your apprehensions. Your son has

probably neglected some prescribed form or attention in registering his

cargo, and it is more than probable he will be set at liberty directly

he has given the information required, whether touching the health of

his crew, or the value of his freight.”

“What is the meaning of all this?” inquired Caderousse, frowningly, of

Danglars, who had assumed an air of utter surprise.

“How can I tell you?” replied he; “I am, like yourself, utterly

bewildered at all that is going on, and cannot in the least make out

what it is about.” Caderousse then looked around for Fernand, but he had

disappeared.

The scene of the previous night now came back to his mind with startling

clearness. The painful catastrophe he had just witnessed appeared

effectually to have rent away the veil which the intoxication of the

evening before had raised between himself and his memory.

“So, so,” said he, in a hoarse and choking voice, to Danglars, “this,

then, I suppose, is a part of the trick you were concerting yesterday?

All I can say is, that if it be so, ’tis an ill turn, and well deserves

to bring double evil on those who have projected it.”

“Nonsense,” returned Danglars, “I tell you again I have nothing whatever

to do with it; besides, you know very well that I tore the paper to

pieces.”

“No, you did not!” answered Caderousse, “you merely threw it by—I saw it

lying in a corner.”

“Hold your tongue, you fool!—what should you know about it?—why, you

were drunk!”

“Where is Fernand?” inquired Caderousse.

“How do I know?” replied Danglars; “gone, as every prudent man ought to

be, to look after his own affairs, most likely. Never mind where he is,

let you and I go and see what is to be done for our poor friends.”

During this conversation, Dantès, after having exchanged a cheerful

shake of the hand with all his sympathizing friends, had surrendered

himself to the officer sent to arrest him, merely saying, “Make

yourselves quite easy, my good fellows, there is some little mistake to

clear up, that’s all, depend upon it; and very likely I may not have to

go so far as the prison to effect that.”

“Oh, to be sure!” responded Danglars, who had now approached the group,

“nothing more than a mistake, I feel quite certain.”

Dantès descended the staircase, preceded by the magistrate, and followed

by the soldiers. A carriage awaited him at the door; he got in, followed

by two soldiers and the magistrate, and the vehicle drove off towards

Marseilles.

“Adieu, adieu, dearest Edmond!” cried Mercédès, stretching out her arms

to him from the balcony.

The prisoner heard the cry, which sounded like the sob of a broken

heart, and leaning from the coach he called out, “Good-bye, Mercédès—we

shall soon meet again!” Then the vehicle disappeared round one of the

turnings of Fort Saint Nicholas.

“Wait for me here, all of you!” cried M. Morrel; “I will take the first

conveyance I find, and hurry to Marseilles, whence I will bring you word

how all is going on.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed a multitude of voices, “go, and return as

quickly as you can!”

This second departure was followed by a long and fearful state of

terrified silence on the part of those who were left behind. The old

father and Mercédès remained for some time apart, each absorbed in

grief; but at length the two poor victims of the same blow raised their

eyes, and with a simultaneous burst of feeling rushed into each other’s

arms.

Meanwhile Fernand made his appearance, poured out for himself a glass of

water with a trembling hand; then hastily swallowing it, went to sit

down at the first vacant place, and this was, by mere chance, placed

next to the seat on which poor Mercédès had fallen half fainting, when

released from the warm and affectionate embrace of old Dantès.

Instinctively Fernand drew back his chair.

“He is the cause of all this misery—I am quite sure of it,” whispered

Caderousse, who had never taken his eyes off Fernand, to Danglars.

“I don’t think so,” answered the other; “he’s too stupid to imagine such

a scheme. I only hope the mischief will fall upon the head of whoever

wrought it.”

“You don’t mention those who aided and abetted the deed,” said

Caderousse.

“Surely,” answered Danglars, “one cannot be held responsible for every

chance arrow shot into the air.”

“You can, indeed, when the arrow lights point downward on somebody’s

head.”

Meantime the subject of the arrest was being canvassed in every

different form.

“What think you, Danglars,” said one of the party, turning towards him,

“of this event?”

“Why,” replied he, “I think it just possible Dantès may have been

detected with some trifling article on board ship considered here as

contraband.”

“But how could he have done so without your knowledge, Danglars, since

you are the ship’s supercargo?”

“Why, as for that, I could only know what I was told respecting the

merchandise with which the vessel was laden. I know she was loaded with

cotton, and that she took in her freight at Alexandria from Pastret’s

warehouse, and at Smyrna from Pascal’s; that is all I was obliged to

know, and I beg I may not be asked for any further particulars.”

“Now I recollect,” said the afflicted old father; “my poor boy told me

yesterday he had got a small case of coffee, and another of tobacco for

me!”

“There, you see,” exclaimed Danglars. “Now the mischief is out; depend

upon it the custom-house people went rummaging about the ship in our

absence, and discovered poor Dantès’ hidden treasures.”

Mercédès, however, paid no heed to this explanation of her lover’s

arrest. Her grief, which she had hitherto tried to restrain, now burst

out in a violent fit of hysterical sobbing.

“Come, come,” said the old man, “be comforted, my poor child; there is

still hope!”

“Hope!” repeated Danglars.

“Hope!” faintly murmured Fernand, but the word seemed to die away on his

pale agitated lips, and a convulsive spasm passed over his countenance.

“Good news! good news!” shouted forth one of the party stationed in the

balcony on the lookout. “Here comes M. Morrel back. No doubt, now, we

shall hear that our friend is released!”

Mercédès and the old man rushed to meet the shipowner and greeted him at

the door. He was very pale.

“What news?” exclaimed a general burst of voices.

“Alas, my friends,” replied M. Morrel, with a mournful shake of his

head, “the thing has assumed a more serious aspect than I expected.”

“Oh, indeed—indeed, sir, he is innocent!” sobbed forth Mercédès.

“That I believe!” answered M. Morrel; “but still he is charged——”

“With what?” inquired the elder Dantès.

“With being an agent of the Bonapartist faction!” Many of our readers

may be able to recollect how formidable such an accusation became in the

period at which our story is dated.

A despairing cry escaped the pale lips of Mercédès; the old man sank

into a chair.

“Ah, Danglars!” whispered Caderousse, “you have deceived me—the trick

you spoke of last night has been played; but I cannot suffer a poor old

man or an innocent girl to die of grief through your fault. I am

determined to tell them all about it.”

“Be silent, you simpleton!” cried Danglars, grasping him by the arm, “or

I will not answer even for your own safety. Who can tell whether Dantès

be innocent or guilty? The vessel did touch at Elba, where he quitted

it, and passed a whole day in the island. Now, should any letters or

other documents of a compromising character be found upon him, will it

not be taken for granted that all who uphold him are his accomplices?”

With the rapid instinct of selfishness, Caderousse readily perceived the