The Departure
THE recent events formed the theme of conversation throughout all Paris. Emmanuel and his wife conversed with natural astonishment in their little apartment in the Rue Meslay upon the three successive, sudden, and most unexpected catastrophes of Morcerf, Danglars, and Villefort. Maximilian, who was paying them a visit, listened to their conversation, or rather, was present at it, plunged in his accustomed state of apathy.
“Indeed,” said Julie, “might we not almost fancy, Emmanuel, that those people, so rich, so happy but yesterday, had forgotten, in the calculations on which they based their prosperity, that an evil genius hovered over them, who, like the wicked fairies in Perrault’s stories, presenting themselves, unbidden, at some wedding or baptism, has appeared all at once, to revenge himself for their fatal neglect?”
“What misfortunes!” said Emmanuel, thinking of Morcerf and Danglars.
“What sufferings!” said Julie, remembering Valentine, but whom, with a delicacy natural to women, she did not name before her brother.
“If the Supreme Being has directed the fatal blow,” said Emmanuel, “it must be that he, in his great goodness, has perceived nothing in the past lives of these people to merit mitigation of their awful punishment.”
“Do you not form a very rash judgment, Emmanuel?” said Julie. “When my father, with a pistol in his hand, was once on the point of committing suicide, had any one then said, ‘This man deserves his misery,’ would not that person have been deceived?”
“Yes; but your father was not allowed to fall, nor Abraham to sacrifice his son. A being was commissioned to arrest the fatal hand of death in his case as in the patriarch’s.”
Emmanuel had scarcely uttered these words, when the sound of the bell was heard, the well-known signal given by the porter that a visitor had arrived. Nearly at the same instant the door of the room was opened, and the Count of Monte-Cristo appeared on the threshold. The young people uttered a cry of joy, while Maximilian raised his head, but let it fall again immediately.
“Maximilian,” said the count, without appearing to notice the different impressions which his presence produced on the little circle, “I come to seek you.”
“To seek me?” repeated Morrel, as if awakening from a dream.
“Yes,” said Monte-Cristo, “has it not been agreed that I should take you with me, and did I not tell you yesterday to prepare for departure?”
“I am ready,” said Maximilian; “I came expressly to wish them farewell.”
“Whither are you going, count?” asked Julie.
“In the first instance to Marseilles, madame.”
“To Marseilles!” exclaimed the young couple.
“Yes, and I take your brother with me.”
“Oh! count,” said Julie, “will you restore him to us cured of his melancholy?” Morrel turned away to conceal the confusion of his countenance.
“You perceive, then, that he is not happy?” said the count.
“Yes,” replied the young woman; “and I fear much that he finds our home but a dull one.”
“I will undertake to divert him,” replied the count.
“I am ready to accompany you, sir,” said Maximilian. “Adieu, my kind friends! Emmanuel! Julie! Farewell!”
“How, farewell?” exclaimed Julie; “do you leave us thus so suddenly, without any preparations for your journey, without even a passport?”
“Needless delays but increase the grief of parting,” said Monte-Cristo, “and Maximilian has doubtless provided himself with everything requisite; at least, I advised him to do so.”