Monte-Cristo's Daughter Part 22

"I believe, Count, you have a son named Giovanni, who was recently in Paris."

Instantly the aged Roman's brow clouded and he cast a scrutinizing glance at his guest. Then he said, coldly:

"I have no son!"

Maximilian in his turn gazed searchingly at the Count, but the latter's visage had already a.s.sumed a stony and defiant look that seemed to oppose an insurmountable barrier to further conversation on this subject. There was an awkward pause, during which the two men continued to gaze at each other. M. Morrel, though much embarra.s.sed and disconcerted by the prompt check he had received, was the first to break the ominous silence.

"I ask your pardon, Count," said he, "but the young man of whom I spoke represented himself to be the Viscount Giovanni Ma.s.setti. Is it possible that he was an impostor?"

The Count's aspect became more frigid; he replied, icily:

"I repeat that I have no son!"

Maximilian was sorely puzzled. He knew not what to think or say. The old n.o.bleman arose as if to terminate the interview. He showed no trace of excitement, but M. Morrel felt certain that he was a prey to an internal agitation that he with difficulty controlled. There could be no doubt that Giovanni was what he had represented himself to be, for had he not pa.s.sed as the Viscount Ma.s.setti in Rome as well as in Paris? But one solution to the mystery offered itself--the Count had disowned his son, disowned him because of the terrible crime with which he was charged, from which he had been apparently unable to clear himself. M. Morrel also arose, but he was unwilling to depart thus, to be summarily dismissed as it were. He determined to make one more effort to get at the truth.

"Count," he said, "I do not wish you to misunderstand me, to impute to mere idle curiosity my desire to be informed concerning this unfortunate and unhappy young man. I know that a black cloud hangs over him, that at present he is branded and disgraced. I was not aware, however, that his family had cast him off."

"Monsieur," returned the Count, impatiently, "you are strangely persistent."

"I am persistent, Count," said Maximilian, earnestly, "because the Viscount Ma.s.setti is not alone in his misfortune. Another, an estimable young lady, is now languishing in Paris on his account."

"I pity her!" said the old n.o.bleman, impressively.

"So do I," rejoined Maximilian; "from the bottom of my heart I pity them both and that is the reason I am here."

"May I ask the name of this estimable young lady?"

"Certainly. Her name is Zuleika; she is the daughter of the world-famous Count of Monte-Cristo."

Old Ma.s.setti gave a start and the muscles of his face twitched nervously, but he managed to control himself and said:

"Indeed! Permit me to inquire what relations the young man sustained towards the daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo."

"She is or rather was betrothed to him."

"My G.o.d! Another victim! Does the girl love him?"

"She does, with all her soul!"

"Did he betray her, did he lead her astray?"

"No; his conduct towards her was in all respects that of a man of the strictest honor."

"Heaven be praised for that! Then no damage has been done! Let her forget him!"

"I fear, I know, she cannot!"

"She is young, isn't she?"

"Very young."

"Then time will heal her wounds. She must forget him, for he is unworthy of her love!"

"But do you feel no affection, no pity, for your son?"

"I tell you I have no son! How many times must I repeat it!"

The Count's look was harder than ever; all the pride and haughtiness of the Ma.s.settis seemed concentrated in the expression of his venerable countenance. Maximilian opened his lips to speak again, but the old n.o.bleman stopped him and said, sternly:

"We have had enough of this! Captain Morrel, let what has pa.s.sed between us on this wretched subject be forgotten. I shall be glad to receive you at any hour as a friend, but, if you value my acquaintance, my friendship, never mention that young man to me again! Farewell, Monsieur!"

The Count touched a bell and a valet appeared. Maximilian bowed to his host and, guided by the servant, quitted the palazzo. In the street he stood for a moment like one utterly bewildered. It was plain that the elder Ma.s.setti had fully made up his mind as to Giovanni's guilt, and if the father deserted his son what hope was there that the cold, heartless world would not follow his example? Maximilian was in despair. At the very first step in his mission he had been unceremoniously and firmly halted. What was he to do? Should he acknowledge himself finally defeated because his initial attempt had failed so disastrously? No; that would be miserable cowardice! He would persist, he would make further investigations. He had undertaken this work for Zuleika, to restore happiness to her heart and light to her eyes, and he would not abandon the task, no matter how arduous it might be, until he had cleared Giovanni or obtained tangible, incontrovertible proof of his guilt!

Fortified by this resolution M. Morrel returned to the Hotel de France.

Valentine met him with a look of anxious inquiry. He endeavoured to seem cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but the effort was a pitiful failure. He sank into a chair and said to his wife in a dejected tone:

"I have seen the Count Ma.s.setti. He believes his son guilty and has disowned him!"

Valentine seated herself beside her husband and tenderly took his hand.

"Maximilian," she said, "it is a bad beginning, I confess, but you know the proverb and, I trust, the good ending will yet come!"

"It will not be our fault if it does not," replied her husband, heroically. "At all events, we will do our best."

"And we shall succeed! I feel confident of that!"

"Thank you for those words, Valentine! You are a perfect enchantress and have brought my dead hope to life!"

That evening the Morrels' decided to visit the Colosseum. They desired to see the gigantic remains of that vast fabric of the Ca.s.sars by moonlight, to inspect amid the silvery rays the crumbling courts and galleries that ages agone had echoed with the proud tread of the elite of barbaric old Rome! Conducted by a guide belonging to the Hotel de France, they set out and were soon standing among the ruins of the great amphitheatre. There they were seized upon by a special cicerone, who seemed to consider the huge wreck of Flavius Vespasian's monument as his particular property and who could not be shaken off. He joined forces with the hotel guide and the twain, jabbering away industriously in an almost unintelligible jargon, led the helpless visitors from one point of interest to another, showing them in turn broken columns, the seats of the Vestals, dilapidated stone staircases, the "Fosse des Lions" and the "Podium des Cesars." Maximilian and Valentine were filled with unspeakable awe and admiration as they contemplated the remnants of ancient grandeur, and mentally peopled the wondrous Colosseum with contending gladiators, stately Patricians and the applauding herd of sanguinary Plebeians, Mme. Morrel shuddering as she thought of the thousands of high-bred dames and beautiful maidens who in the old days had pitilessly turned down their thumbs as a signal for the taking of human life! Although the moon was brilliant and flooded the antique amphitheatre with argentine light, the guides carried torches, which served to spread a flickering and wan illumination through the dark recesses of the cavernous vomitariums, now the refuge of bats, owls, goats and serpents.

As they were pa.s.sing through a long and unusually sombre gallery, the guides suddenly paused with a simultaneous cry and began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian and Valentine halted in affright, the former hurriedly drawing a small pistol to defend his wife and himself against the unknown and mysterious danger. They glanced about them but could see nothing, the torches revealing only huge stones and dust-covered vaults.

M. Morrel demanded of the guides what was the cause of their terror, but for some moments could glean no intelligence from their vague, unintelligible replies. At last one of the cicerones managed to explain that they had seen the maniac! This was comforting information to the visitors! A maniac at large and ranging at night about amid the Colosseum's ruins! Valentine, trembling with fear, clung to her husband for protection.

"Is it a man or a woman?" asked Maximilian of one of the guides.

"A man, signor."

"Is he violent, dangerous?"

"No, signor, neither; but his appearance gives one a terrible shock, he is so wild-looking, and, besides, he mutters fearful curses! Holy Virgin, protect us!"

Maximilian felt his curiosity aroused; a strange desire took possession of him to see and speak with this singular madman, who frequented the gladiators' courts and muttered fearful curses to the broken columns of the Colosseum.

"Where is the maniac now?" he demanded of the guides. "Do you see him?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied one of the men, glancing about him uneasily.

"But where is he? Can you take us to him?" persisted Maximilian.