The House in the Allees de Meillan
TEN leagues were passed without a single word being pronounced. Morrel was dreaming, and Monte-Cristo was looking at the dreamer.
“Morrel,” said the count to him at length, “do you repent having followed me?”
“No, count; but to leave Paris –”
“If I thought happiness might await you in Paris, Morrel, I would have left you there.”
“Valentine reposes within the walls of Paris, and to leave Paris is like losing her a second time.”
“Maximilian,” said the count, “the friends that we have lost do not repose in the bosom of the earth, but are buried deep in our hearts; and it has been thus ordained, that we may always be accompanied by them. I have two friends, who, in this way, never depart from me; the one who gave me being, and the other who conferred knowledge and intelligence on me. Their spirits live in me. I consult them when doubtful, and if ever I do any good, it is to their good counsels that I am indebted. Listen to the voice of your heart, Morrel, and ask it whether you ought to preserve this melancholy exterior.”
“My friend,” said Maximilian, “the voice of my heart is very sad, and promises only sorrow.”
“It is ever thus that weakened minds see everything as through a black veil; the soul forms its own horizons; your soul is darkened and consequently the sky of the future appears stormy.”
“That may possibly be true,” said Maximilian. And he again subsided into his thoughtful mood.
The journey was performed with that marvelous rapidity which was one of the count’s sources of power; towns fled from them like shadows on their path, and trees shaken by the first winds of autumn seemed like giants madly rushing on to meet them, and retreating as rapidly when once reached. The following morning they arrived at Chalons, where the count’s steamboat waited for them; without an instant being lost, the carriage was placed on board, and the two travelers embarked without delay. The boat was built for speed; her two paddle-wheels resembled two wings with which she skimmed the water like a bird.
Morrel was not insensible to that sensation of delight which is generally experienced in passing rapidly through the air, and the wind, which occasionally raised the hair from his forehead, seemed on the point of dispelling momentarily the clouds collected there. As the distance increased between the travelers and Paris, an almost superhuman serenity appeared to surround the count; he might have been taken for an exile about to revisit his native land.
Ere long Marseilles presented herself to view. Marseilles, white, warm and full of life, – Marseilles, the younger sister of Tyre and Carthage, that has succeeded to them in the empire of the Mediterranean, – Marseilles, always the younger, the older she grows, – Marseilles was seen. Powerful memories were stirred within them by the sight of that round tower, that Fort Saint-Nicolas, that Hotel-de-Ville built by Puget, that port with its quays of brick, where they had both gamboled as children; and it was with one accord that they stopped on the Cannebiere.
A vessel was setting sail for Algiers, on board of which the bustle usually attending departure prevailed. The passengers and their relations crowded on the deck, friends taking a tender but sorrowful leave of each other, some weeping, others noisy in their grief, formed a spectacle, exciting even to those who witnessed similar ones daily, but which had not the power to disturb the current of thought that had taken possession of the mind of Maximilian from the moment he had set foot on the broad pavement of the quay.