CHAPTER 220: THE DUEL THAT NEVER WAS: II

Monte Cristo jumped lightly from the carriage and helped Emmanuel and Maximilian down. Morrel held onto the count’s hand between both of his own.

"I like holding a hand like this," he said, "when its owner trusts in the rightness of his cause."

"It looks to me," Emmanuel said, "like there are two young men down there waiting."

Monte Cristo pulled Morrel a step or two behind Emmanuel.

"Maximilian," he said quietly, "are you in love with anyone?"

Morrel looked at him in surprise.

"I’m not asking for your secrets, my dear friend. It’s just a simple question. Answer it, that’s all I need."

"I love a young woman, Count."

"Do you love her deeply?"

"More than my own life."

"Another hope destroyed," the count muttered. Then, with a sigh, "Poor Haydée."

"To be honest, Count, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were less brave than you actually are."

"Because I sigh when thinking about someone I’m leaving behind? Come now, Morrel. A soldier like you shouldn’t be such a poor judge of courage. Do I regret living? What does life mean to me, when I’ve spent twenty years between life and death? Besides, don’t worry yourself, Morrel. This moment of weakness, if that’s what it is, is for your eyes only. I know the world is like a drawing room, you must exit politely and honorably, with a bow and all your debts paid."

"Speaking of which, did you bring your weapons?"

"Me? What for? I assume these gentlemen have theirs."

"I’ll check," Morrel said.

"Do. But don’t negotiate anything, understand me?"

"You don’t need to worry."

Morrel walked toward Beauchamp and Château-Renaud, who, seeing his approach, came to meet him halfway. The three young men bowed to each other courteously, though not exactly warmly.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Morrel said, "but I don’t see Monsieur de Morcerf."

"He sent word this morning," Château-Renaud replied, "that he would meet us on the field."

"Ah," said Morrel.

Beauchamp pulled out his pocket watch. "It’s only five minutes past eight. There’s hardly any delay yet."

"Oh, I wasn’t implying anything," Morrel said quickly.

"There’s a carriage coming," Château-Renaud observed.

It moved rapidly along one of the tree-lined paths toward the clearing where they’d gathered.

"You gentlemen have pistols, I assume? Monsieur de Monte Cristo is giving up his right to use his own."

"We anticipated the count’s generosity," Beauchamp said. "I brought weapons I purchased eight or ten days ago, thinking I might need them for a similar occasion. They’re brand new and haven’t been fired. Would you like to examine them?"

"Oh, Monsieur Beauchamp, if you assure me that Monsieur de Morcerf doesn’t know these pistols, your word is more than sufficient."

"Gentlemen," Château-Renaud said suddenly, "that’s not Morcerf in that carriage. I’ll be damned, it’s Franz and Debray!"

The two young men he’d named were indeed approaching.

"What brings you here, gentlemen?" Château-Renaud asked, shaking hands with each.

"Because," Debray said, "Albert sent a message this morning asking us to come."

Beauchamp and Château-Renaud exchanged looks of confusion.

"I think I understand why," Morrel said.

"What’s the reason?"

"Yesterday afternoon I received a letter from Monsieur de Morcerf inviting me to the Opera."

"So did I," said Debray.

"Me too," added Franz.

"And us as well," said Beauchamp and Château-Renaud together.

"He wanted you all to witness the challenge, so now he wants you present for the duel itself."

"That makes sense," the young men agreed. "You’ve probably guessed correctly."

"But after all these arrangements, he’s not here himself," Château-Renaud said. "Albert is ten minutes late."

"There he is," Beauchamp announced, "on horseback at full gallop, with a servant following."

"How reckless," Château-Renaud muttered. "Coming on horseback to a pistol duel, after all the advice I gave him."

"And look," Beauchamp added, "his collar is above his cravat, his coat is open, and he’s wearing a white vest! Why didn’t he just paint a target on his heart? It would’ve been simpler."

Meanwhile, Albert had pulled up within ten paces of the group. He jumped from his horse, tossed the reins to his servant, and joined them. His face was pale, and his eyes were red and swollen, clearly, he hadn’t slept. An unusual shadow of melancholy hung over his features.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he said, "for accepting my request. I’m extremely grateful for this show of friendship."

Morrel had stepped back when Albert arrived and kept his distance.

"And you too, Monsieur Morrel, thank you. Come closer. There can never be too many witnesses."

"Sir," Maximilian said carefully, "you may not be aware that I’m Monsieur de Monte Cristo’s friend."

"I wasn’t certain, but I suspected as much. All the better. The more honorable men present, the more satisfied I’ll be."

"Monsieur Morrel," Château-Renaud said, "would you inform the Count of Monte Cristo that Monsieur de Morcerf has arrived and we’re ready when he is?"

Morrel turned to fulfill this task. Beauchamp had already retrieved the pistol case from the carriage.

"Wait, gentlemen," Albert said suddenly. "I need to say two words to the Count of Monte Cristo."

"In private?" Morrel asked.

"No, sir. In front of everyone here."

Albert’s seconds exchanged uncertain glances. Franz and Debray whispered to each other. Morrel, thrilled by this unexpected development, went to fetch the count, who was walking along a secluded path with Emmanuel.

"What does he want from me?" Monte Cristo asked.

"I don’t know, but he wants to speak with you."

"Really?" Monte Cristo’s eyes narrowed. "I hope he’s not planning to provoke me with some fresh insult."

"I don’t believe that’s his intention," Morrel said.

The count walked forward, accompanied by Maximilian and Emmanuel. His calm, serene expression formed a striking contrast to Albert’s grief-stricken face. They approached each other, followed by the other four young men. When they were three paces apart, both Albert and the count stopped.

"Come closer, gentlemen," Albert called out. "I want you to hear every word I’m about to say to the Count of Monte Cristo. You must repeat it to everyone who will listen, no matter how strange it may sound."

"Go ahead, sir," the count said evenly.

"Sir," Albert began, his voice trembling at first but growing steadier, "I blamed you for exposing my father’s actions in Epirus. Even though I knew he was guilty, I didn’t think you had the right to punish him. But I’ve since learned that you did have that right. It’s not Fernand Mondego’s betrayal of Ali Pasha that makes me excuse you so readily, it’s the betrayal of the fisherman Fernand against you, and the almost unimaginable suffering that followed. I say it here, and I announce it publicly: you were justified in taking revenge on my father. And I, his son, thank you for not being more severe."

If a lightning bolt had struck among the spectators of this incredible scene, it couldn’t have shocked them more than Albert’s declaration. Even Monte Cristo slowly raised his eyes toward heaven with an expression of infinite gratitude. He couldn’t understand how Albert’s fiery temperament, which he’d witnessed firsthand among the bandits in Rome, had suddenly bent to such humiliation.

Then he understood. Mercédès. He recognized her influence and realized why her noble heart hadn’t opposed a sacrifice she knew would be futile anyway.

"Now, sir," Albert continued, "if you find my apology satisfactory, please give me your hand. Next to the virtue of being infallible, which you seem to possess, I rank the virtue of honestly admitting a mistake. But this confession concerns only me. I’ve acted well as a man, but you’ve acted better than any man. Only an angel could have saved one of us from death today. That angel came from heaven, if not to make us friends, which fate, sadly, makes impossible, at least to make us respect each other."

Monte Cristo’s eyes grew moist, his chest heaved, and his lips parted. He extended his hand to Albert, who pressed it with something like respectful awe.

"Gentlemen," Albert announced, turning to the others, "Monsieur de Monte Cristo accepts my apology. I acted rashly toward him. Rash actions are usually wrong. Now my mistake has been corrected. I hope the world won’t call me a coward for following my conscience. But if anyone forms a false opinion of me," he drew himself up tall, as if challenging both friends and enemies, "I’ll make every effort to change it."

"What happened during the night?" Beauchamp whispered to Château-Renaud. "We look like complete fools here."

"Honestly, what Albert just did is either very contemptible or very noble," the baron replied.

"What does this mean?" Debray asked Franz. "The Count of Monte Cristo acts dishonorably toward Monsieur de Morcerf, and his own son justifies it? If I had ten shameful family secrets, I’d feel even more obligated to fight ten times over."

As for Monte Cristo, his head was bowed and his arms hung powerless at his sides. Weighed down by twenty-four years of memories, he didn’t think about Albert, Beauchamp, Château-Renaud, or anyone else in that group. He thought only of the courageous woman who had come to beg for her son’s life, to whom he’d offered his own life, and who had now saved it by revealing a terrible family secret, one capable of destroying every trace of filial love in that young man’s heart.

"Providence still guides me," he murmured. "Only now am I fully convinced that I’m truly God’s messenger."