Part 84 (1/2)
”I? What an idea! I, who am going to give you another piece of good advice.”
”What is it?”
”To leave behind you the diamond you have on your finger. We shall both get into trouble. You will ruin both yourself and me by your folly.”
”How so?” said Andrea.
”How? You put on a livery, you disguise yourself as a servant, and yet keep a diamond on your finger worth four or five thousand francs.”
”You guess well.”
”I know something of diamonds; I have had some.”
”You do well to boast of it,” said Andrea, who, without becoming angry, as Caderousse feared, at this new extortion, quietly resigned the ring. Caderousse looked so closely at it that Andrea well knew that he was examining to see if all the edges were perfect.
”It is a false diamond,” said Caderousse.
”You are joking now,” replied Andrea.
”Do not be angry, we can try it.” Caderousse went to the window, touched the gla.s.s with it, and found it would cut.
”Confiteor,” said Caderousse, putting the diamond on his little finger; ”I was mistaken; but those thieves of jewellers imitate so well that it is no longer worth while to rob a jeweller's shop--it is another branch of industry paralyzed.”
”Have you finished?” said Andrea,--”do you want anything more?--will you have my waistcoat or my hat? Make free, now you have begun.”
”No; you are, after all, a good companion; I will not detain you, and will try to cure myself of my ambition.”
”But take care the same thing does not happen to you in selling the diamond you feared with the gold.”
”I shall not sell it--do not fear.”
”Not at least till the day after to-morrow,” thought the young man.
”Happy rogue,” said Caderousse; ”you are going to find your servants, your horses, your carriage, and your betrothed!”
”Yes,” said Andrea.
”Well, I hope you will make a handsome wedding-present the day you marry Mademoiselle Danglars.”
”I have already told you it is a fancy you have taken in your head.”
”What fortune has she?”
”But I tell you”-- ”A million?” Andrea shrugged his shoulders.
”Let it be a million,” said Caderousse; ”you can never have so much as I wish you.”
”Thank you,” said the young man.
”Oh, I wish it you with all my heart!” added Caderousse with his hoa.r.s.e laugh. ”Stop, let me show you the way.”
”It is not worth while.”
”Yes, it is.”
”Why?”
”Because there is a little secret, a precaution I thought it desirable to take, one of Huret & Fitchet's locks, revised and improved by Gaspard Caderousse; I will manufacture you a similar one when you are a capitalist.”
”Thank you,” said Andrea; ”I will let you know a week beforehand.” They parted. Caderousse remained on the landing until he had not only seen Andrea go down the three stories, but also cross the court. Then he returned hastily, shut his door carefully, and began to study, like a clever architect, the plan Andrea had left him.
”Dear Benedetto,” said he, ”I think he will not be sorry to inherit his fortune, and he who hastens the day when he can touch his five hundred thousand will not be his worst friend.”
Chapter 82.
The Burglary.
The day following that on which the conversation we have related took place, the Count of Monte Cristo set out for Auteuil, accompanied by Ali and several attendants, and also taking with him some horses whose qualities he was desirous of ascertaining. He was induced to undertake this journey, of which the day before he had not even thought and which had not occurred to Andrea either, by the arrival of Bertuccio from Normandy with intelligence respecting the house and sloop. The house was ready, and the sloop which had arrived a week before lay at anchor in a small creek with her crew of six men, who had observed all the requisite formalities and were ready again to put to sea.
The count praised Bertuccio's zeal, and ordered him to prepare for a speedy departure, as his stay in France would not be prolonged more than a month. ”Now,” said he, ”I may require to go in one night from Paris to Treport; let eight fresh horses be in readiness on the road, which will enable me to go fifty leagues in ten hours.”
”Your highness had already expressed that wish,” said Bertuccio, ”and the horses are ready. I have bought them, and stationed them myself at the most desirable posts, that is, in villages, where no one generally stops.”
”That's well,” said Monte Cristo; ”I remain here a day or two--arrange accordingly.” As Bertuccio was leaving the room to give the requisite orders, Baptistin opened the door: he held a letter on a silver waiter.
”What are you doing here?” asked the count, seeing him covered with dust; ”I did not send for you, I think?”
Baptistin, without answering, approached the count, and presented the letter. ”Important and urgent,” said he. The count opened the letter, and read:-- ”M. de Monte Cristo is apprised that this night a man will enter his house in the Champs-Elysees with the intention of carrying off some papers supposed to be in the secretary in the dressing-room. The count's well-known courage will render unnecessary the aid of the police, whose interference might seriously affect him who sends this advice. The count, by any opening from the bedroom, or by concealing himself in the dressing-room, would be able to defend his property himself. Many attendants or apparent precautions would prevent the villain from the attempt, and M. de Monte Cristo would lose the opportunity of discovering an enemy whom chance has revealed to him who now sends this warning to the count,--a warning he might not be able to send another time, if this first attempt should fail and another be made.”
The count's first idea was that this was an artifice--a gross deception, to draw his attention from a minor danger in order to expose him to a greater. He was on the point of sending the letter to the commissary of police, notwithstanding the advice of his anonymous friend, or perhaps because of that advice, when suddenly the idea occurred to him that it might be some personal enemy, whom he alone should recognize and over whom, if such were the case, he alone would gain any advantage, as Fiesco [*] had done over the Moor who would have killed him. We know the Count's vigorous and daring mind, denying anything to be impossible, with that energy which marks the great man. From his past life, from his resolution to shrink from nothing, the count had acquired an inconceivable relish for the contests in which he had engaged, sometimes against nature, that is to say, against G.o.d, and sometimes against the world, that is, against the devil.
* The Genoese conspirator.
”They do not want my papers,” said Monte Cristo, ”they want to kill me; they are no robbers, but a.s.sa.s.sins. I will not allow the prefect of police to interfere with my private affairs. I am rich enough, forsooth, to distribute his authority on this occasion.” The count recalled Baptistin, who had left the room after delivering the letter. ”Return to Paris,” said he; ”a.s.semble the servants who remain there. I want all my household at Auteuil.”
”But will no one remain in the house, my lord?” asked Baptistin.
”Yes, the porter.”
”My lord will remember that the lodge is at a distance from the house.”
”Well?”
”The house might be stripped without his hearing the least noise.”
”By whom?”