The Son of Monte-Cristo Volume I Part 45

"I cannot answer who she was," replied the Zouave; "she could scarcely be persuaded to speak, and only after many cross-questions put to her we found out that she belonged to one of the tribes in the Sahara which we continually pursued. Her people ill-treated her, and she resolved to run away. While seated among the shrubs to rest herself, all at once she heard the growling of the animal close to her.

"What further happened," continued the Zouave, "I cannot tell; her wound was, thank G.o.d! not dangerous, and we took the poor child with us to the camp. Our camp was at that time at Laghouat, a small oasis, the springs of which were considered to possess medicinal properties, and the captain, together with the little one, were removed thither in sedans.

Heavens! both were surprisingly beautiful--even unto this day I see this poor young child slowly lift her large dark lashes, and open her dark almond-shaped eyes. And the captain--oh, commander, his equal cannot easily be met with--he was in every respect quite different from his comrades! With him there were no love affairs, no debts; he never thought about himself, and in battle he was always at the head--a very pearl of an officer!"

A strange feeling came over the count as he listened to the praiseworthy words of the Zouave. Had Albert been his son he could not have been more proud of him. Monte-Cristo was not a man of ordinary nature, otherwise he would have shown bitter hatred toward the son of Fernand Mandego; but it appeared to him that the good qualities of the young man atoned for the faults of the father.

"What was the name of the girl?" he inquired afterward.

"Medje, commander; as soon as she was able to speak the captain inquired after her name. But when he observed that she, perhaps, might wish to return to her tribe, she sobbed bitterly, and tried to show in every respect how much she dreaded it. Who she really was we could never make out. In that cursed country it is quite different than with us. As soon as they can muster together ten people they imagine that they are a nation, and in need of a sultan. From some expressions of Medje we could form the idea that she was the daughter of such a sultan. The captain placed his hand over her, and I was present when he said to her:

"'Medje, you do not seem to have a longing for your father; if you wish to remain with us I will take you under my protection, and I will care for you as if you were my own daughter.'"

"And what answer did Medje give to that?" inquired the count, eagerly.

"Oh, she kissed his hands, she cried for joy, and was really treated well by him. He acted toward her as though she were a little queen. She had her servants, and when the captain went out skirmishing he always reminded the comrades to take care of her, who accordingly were ready and willing to put their hands under her feet!"

"What became of her afterward?"

"Yes, that is the great point at issue. When the last expedition, from which the captain was not to return, was planned, Medje threw herself around the neck of her protector, and adjured him to remain back. The captain laughed at her. She had no idea what discipline signified, and, sobbing, she repeated constantly:

"'Not go away, little papa--not going!'

"Ah, what would not I have given afterward had we taken her advice! When I alone returned from this unfortunate expedition, I was informed that Medje had disappeared the same night, almost at the same hour."

"Then the child was a spy!" exclaimed the count, displeased. "She knew about the expedition, and informed her people accordingly."

"At first I was of the same opinion, but later I changed it, because I found out that already previous to the expedition suspicious forms were swarming about our tents. Medje had accidentally seen one of these men, and, shrieking terribly, she ran away."

"Why did she not give warning to the captain?"

"Who could fathom that? Sure it was that a bold Bedouin, whose name was quite sufficient to set the whole camp in commotion, and who had been seen in the neighborhood, and--"

"What was the name of this Bedouin?" inquired Monte-Cristo, eagerly.

"Mohammed ben Abdallah."

"He? Are you not mistaken?" the count inquired, rather excitedly.

"Oh, no, I have heard the name often enough."

"And you do not know who this man really was?"

"No--probably also a marabout, a kind of juggler or sorcerer."

"Did you acquaint your superiors of this sorcerer?" asked the count after a while.

"No," replied Coucou, rather hesitatingly.

"Then I am surprised that you acquaint me of this," said Monte-Cristo, while he threw a penetrating glance at the Zouave.

Coucou was silent--he could not explain even to himself wherein lay the great influence Monte-Cristo had over him.

"You saw Medje constantly," the count took up the topic once more; "have you never noticed anything striking about her?"

Almost frightened, Coucou looked at the count.

"Yes," said he, then, hesitating; "upon her two cheeks and on her forehead one could perceive a small red cross; it was tattooed by a skilful hand, and seemed to become her very well."

Monte-Cris...o...b..gan to tremble.

"Do you know," he then said, "that Mohammed ben Abdallah is the most cruel enemy of France, and that he has taken an oath to take vengeance for Abd-el-Kader? If the captain has fallen into his hands then we shall never see him again, unless by a miracle."

"Commander, if you take the matter in hand, then a miracle will happen,"

said Coucou, confidently.

"We hope so--and now I shall ride to the hotel, and this evening at ten o'clock you may there inquire for me," said the count, quite loud; but he gently whispered: "Mercedes, I must save your son!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

DEPEND ONLY ON YOURSELF

Arrived at the Hotel de l'Univers, the count sent his card to Monsieur Beauchamp, and as the answer of the journalist was that the count's visit would be very agreeable to him, he went at once to Monsieur Beauchamp.

"Welcome in Ma.r.s.eilles, count," was the salute he received from the Parisian. "I am glad to see you again."

"I am also glad," returned the count, taking the proffered hand and shaking it heartily. "Well, what news in the political world?"

"Pah! let us not speak about that. On the 24th of February, as you are aware of, the Republic was proclaimed, and at first I really believed we had made an excellent bargain; but the joy was only of short duration.

The people are but a makeshift to the leaders; they are asked to make sacrifices, yet not for themselves, but for others, and in the end--No, I had better drop this topic, for I really get vexed for nothing at all, and I only came here in order to forget! Tell me, rather, how I can serve you; and, if I am not mistaken, you take an interest in Madame de Morcerf?"

"Yes; but how do you come to know all this?"

"Oh--I know you, dear count. Wherever there is any grief to alleviate, a heroic act to accomplish, the Count of Monte-Cristo is always on the spot."

"You have a good opinion of me," said the count, deprecatingly; "and then, who was it that took care that the Zouave Coucou was sent here in order to console the poor mother?"

"Pah, that was only Christian duty; and besides, Captain Joliette bears among his superiors an excellent name. He was always the first in the midst of the enemy's fire, and his modesty, in spite of his bravery, has become proverbial among his comrades."

"And his disappearance?"

"For myself and all others this disappearance is really a puzzle. The Arabs seldom take prisoners, and I greatly fear that he has been dragged into the desert and killed."

"Do you, perhaps, know of what race the Bedouins were who attacked the expedition?" inquired Monte-Cristo, considering.