The Son of Monte-Cristo Volume I Part 49

"Ah--the Zouave Coucou--let him come in!"

The Jackal entered and inquiringly looked around--yes, here it was almost as nice as in Africa.

"Coucou," the count commenced, "I have obtained for you an unlimited furlough."

Coucou scratched his head.

"Well--is it, perhaps, not acceptable to you?"

"Not exactly that, commander, but what am I to do in the intervening time? Africa's sun, the Bedouins, the Jackals, nay even the Hyenas I shall miss."

"Well, perhaps we can find a remedy--to-morrow at daybreak we depart for Algiers."

"To Algiers--is that true?" joyfully exclaimed Coucou, throwing his cap in the air and making a salute, which perhaps was not fashionable, but nevertheless significant.

"Excuse me, commander," he stammered, placing his hand on his cap, "I am overcome with joy! G.o.d be praised, now we shall find my good captain!"

"That I also hope, Coucou."

"But how is it with her ladyship, commander?" asked Coucou doubtfully; "is she satisfied?"

"Ask her yourself," said Monte-Cristo.

"Madame," Coucou said turning toward Haydee, "you have a brave husband, and as long as Coucou lives n.o.body shall touch a hair of his head!"

Haydee smiled amid her tears, and the count said:

"Coucou--here is my son, he will accompany us!"

"The little fellow--_Sapristi_--that is grand! the young gentleman is the little corporal--do you like the t.i.tle, my young master?"

Spero, clapping his hand joyfully into the proffered one of the Zouave, cried out laughingly:

"I shall do my best to earn my epaulets!"

"Go now, Coucou," said Monte-Cristo, "and do not fail to be at the harbor at six o'clock to-morrow morning."

"I will not fail, commander."

The Zouave, placing his hand to his cap, went away.

CHAPTER XLI

HOW AND WHERE COUCOU TOOK LEAVE

In a beautiful garden, adjacent to a small splendid villa, Clary Ellis this evening walked irresolutely to and fro. Madam Caraman, with whom the young girl had a lively conversation, had retired, as she stated, to work on the veranda, and Clary was reflecting on the conversation.

When the young girl had, in the afternoon, seen the count at Mercedes', she had become quite inquisitive to know something more about the stranger; the way and manner, however, Mercedes answered her questions in nowise satisfied her curiosity.

The count was an old friend of the family, was Mercedes' answer; he had known her son, previous to going to Africa, and he had always felt a lively interest for him.

Clary had accepted this explanation without putting confidence in it; she saw that Mercedes tried to hide something from her and that vexed her.

Madame Caraman had the next day called for her _protegee_, and in walking home together, she said:

"Do you know, Clary, what I have heard to-day--the Count of Monte Cristo is said to be in Ma.r.s.eilles."

"Well, what is there remarkable in that?" Clary calmly asked. "Have you not seen him then?"

"Seen him--where?" responded Madame Caraman, stupefied.

"Dear me, he just left as I came to Madame Joliette. You were waiting outside the house and could not have failed to see him."

"Oh, Lord! could the gentleman who rode off with the Zouave have been the count?" remarked Madame Caraman, quickly.

"No doubt; a slender, pale man, with dark hair."

"That I should not have known it!--where must my eyes have been?"

lamented Madame Caraman, and in the meantime both had reached the villa, and Clary said carelessly:

"Please come with me in the garden, Madame Caraman; I like to hear more particulars about this Count of Monte-Cristo."

"But, Clary," said the French lady with astonishment, "have you never heard of the count? What do they read yonder in England?"

"Oh, various matters--but what has this to do with the count?"

"More than you think of; you have stocked in your little heart a great deal of ballast, and neglected the most necessary things. Do you know the author Alexandre Dumas?"

"Only as far as the name is concerned."

"H'm--I thought so; yes--France does not for no purpose possess the credit of being at the head of civilization."

"But Mamma Caraman, when are we then to return to our subject, the count?" asked Clary, impatiently.

"At once. Alexandre Dumas has written many romances, and one of the most interesting is 'The Count of Monte-Cristo.'"

"Mamma Caraman," said Clary, vexed, "how is it that you intend to dish up for me such a childish fable?"

"But I am speaking seriously; Dumas has rendered more service for the general education of the people than ten ministers. In his 'Three Guardsmen,' for instance, one gets thoroughly acquainted with the histories of Richelieu, Anna of Austria and Louis XIII., in a very interesting manner. In the 'Count of Monte-Cristo' the shortcomings and faults of the government after the overthrow of the great emperor are unsparingly exposed, and in the same way every work of the great novelist offers special merits. The more I think of it the more clearly I understand it, that we also have in your friend, Madame Joliette, a character of the novel before us. Her name is Mercedes, and she is no doubt Madame de Morcerf. And the name of her son?"

"Albert."

"Well, there it is; the father was a scamp, who shot himself, the son and the wife resigned their possessions and then disappeared from society. It will perhaps be best if I send the servant to a library to get the romance; I wager that you will not put the book aside till you have perused it all through?"