CHAPTER 221: VENGEANCE REVEALED: I

The Count of Monte Cristo gave a sad, dignified bow to the five young men before climbing into his carriage with Maximilian and Emmanuel. Albert stood alone with his two friends, Beauchamp and Château-Renaud, his eyes searching their faces, not timidly, but as if asking what they thought of what he’d just done.

"Well, my friend," Beauchamp said first, showing more emotion than the other, "congratulations. This turned out far better than expected for such an ugly situation."

Albert stayed silent, lost in thought. Château-Renaud just tapped his boot with his walking stick. After an awkward silence, he finally spoke. "Should we get going?"

"Whenever you’re ready," Beauchamp replied. "But first, let me compliment Albert. What he did today showed rare courage and nobility."

"Oh, yes," Château-Renaud said flatly.

"It’s magnificent," Beauchamp continued, "to have that kind of self-control!"

"Sure. Personally, I couldn’t have done it," Château-Renaud said, his voice dripping with cold sarcasm.

"Gentlemen," Albert interrupted, "I don’t think you understand. Something serious just happened between the Count of Monte Cristo and me."

"Maybe, maybe," Beauchamp said quickly. "But not everyone will understand your... heroism. Sooner or later, you’ll have to explain yourself more forcefully, and that won’t be good for your health or lifespan. Can I give you some friendly advice? Leave Paris. Go to Naples, or somewhere far away, places where honor is better understood than among our hotheaded Parisians. Find peace and let people forget, so you can return to France safely in a few years. Don’t you agree, Château-Renaud?"

"Completely," the gentleman said. "Nothing causes serious trouble like backing down from a duel."

"Thank you, gentlemen," Albert replied with an indifferent smile. "I’ll follow your advice, not because you gave it, but because I’d already planned to leave France anyway. I appreciate you being my seconds today. I’ll remember that much, at least."

The look Beauchamp and Château-Renaud exchanged said it all. Albert’s tone was so final that continuing the conversation would only make things more uncomfortable.

"Goodbye, Albert," Beauchamp said suddenly, casually extending his hand.

Albert barely seemed to notice, making no move to take it.

"Goodbye," Château-Renaud added, keeping his cane in his left hand while offering a small wave with his right.

Albert’s lips barely formed the word "goodbye," but his eyes told a different story, they blazed with restrained anger, proud disdain, and righteous indignation. He stood there, melancholy and motionless, long after his two friends returned to their carriage. Then, suddenly unfastening his horse from the tree where his servant had tied it, he mounted and galloped toward Paris.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at his family’s house. As he dismounted, he thought he saw his father’s pale face behind the bedroom curtain. Albert looked away with a sigh and headed to his own rooms.

He cast one long look around at all the luxuries that had made his life so easy and happy since childhood, the paintings that seemed to smile at him, the landscapes in their vibrant colors. Then he carefully removed his mother’s portrait from its wooden frame, leaving behind only the empty gilded frame, black and hollow.

He gathered his beautiful Turkish weapons, his fine English guns, his Japanese porcelain, his silver-mounted cups, his artistic bronze sculptures. He examined every cabinet and left the key in each lock. Into his open desk drawer he threw all his pocket money and the countless expensive trinkets from his vases and jewelry boxes. Then he made a detailed inventory of everything and placed it prominently on the table, after clearing away the books and papers.

His servant entered despite orders not to disturb him.

"What do you want?" Albert asked, sounding more sad than angry.

"I apologize, sir," the valet replied. "You told me not to disturb you, but the Count has summoned me."

"And?"

"I didn’t want to go without seeing you first."

"Why?"

"Because the Count probably knows I went with you to the duel this morning."

"Most likely," Albert said.

"He’s going to ask me what happened. What should I tell him?"

"The truth."

"So I should say the duel didn’t happen?"

"Tell him I apologized to the Count of Monte Cristo. Now go."

The valet bowed and left. Albert returned to his inventory. As he worked, the sound of horses and carriage wheels caught his attention. He went to the window and saw his father getting into a carriage and driving away.

The moment the door closed behind his father, Albert headed straight to his mother’s room. With no one to announce him, he walked toward her bedroom. What he saw made him stop at the doorway.

As if the same thought had struck both of them, his mother was doing exactly what he’d just done. Everything was organized, lace, dresses, jewels, linens, money, all arranged neatly in drawers. She was carefully gathering the keys.

Albert understood immediately. "Mother!" he cried, throwing his arms around her neck.

The pain on both their faces could have made a beautiful, heartbreaking painting. All these signs of determined action alarmed Albert, not for himself, but for his mother.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What were you doing?" she replied.

"Oh, Mother!" Albert could barely speak. "It’s not the same for us. You can’t have made the same decision I have. I came to tell you I’m leaving this house, and saying goodbye to you."

"I’m leaving too," Mercedes said. "I was counting on you coming with me. Was I wrong?"

"Mother," Albert said firmly, "I can’t let you share my fate. I have to live without rank or money now. To start this new life, I’ll have to borrow money from a friend just for my next meal, until I can earn my own. So I’m going to ask Franz to lend me what I need to get by."

"You, my poor child, suffering poverty and hunger? Don’t say that. It breaks my heart."

"But not mine, Mother," Albert replied. "I’m young and strong. I think I’m brave, and since yesterday, I’ve learned the power of will. Some people have suffered terribly and yet survived, building new fortunes from the ruins of their happiness. I’ve seen it, Mother. I know that people who’ve been pushed into the depths by their enemies have risen up with such strength and glory that they’ve conquered those who destroyed them. No, Mother, I’m done with the past. I won’t accept anything from it, not even my name. You understand, your son can’t bear the name of a man who should be ashamed of it."

"Albert, my child," Mercedes said, "if I were stronger, that’s the advice I would have given you. Your conscience spoke when my voice failed. Listen to it. You have friends, Albert, end those friendships. But don’t despair. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re barely twenty-two, and a pure heart like yours needs an untainted name. Take my father’s name, it was Herrera. I’m sure, whatever path you choose, you’ll make that name illustrious. Then return to the world, even stronger because of your sorrows. And even if I’m wrong, let me have this hope, I have no future left to look forward to. For me, the grave opens when I leave this house."

"I’ll do everything you wish, Mother," the young man said. "Yes, I share your hopes. Heaven won’t punish us, you’re innocent and so am I. But now that we’ve decided, let’s act quickly. Father left about half an hour ago. Now’s our chance to avoid a confrontation."

"I’m ready, my son," Mercedes said.

Albert rushed to get a carriage. He remembered a small furnished house for rent where his mother could find humble but decent lodging. As the carriage stopped at the door and Albert stepped out, a man approached and handed him a letter. Albert recognized the messenger.

"From the Count," said Bertuccio.

Albert took the letter and opened it. He looked for Bertuccio, but the man had already disappeared. Tears filled Albert’s eyes as he returned to Mercedes and wordlessly handed her the letter.