CHAPTER 222: VENGEANCE REVEALED: II

Mercedes read:

"Albert,

By showing you that I know your plans, I hope to also show you my consideration. You’re free to leave your father’s house and take your mother with you. But think, Albert, you owe her more than your noble heart can ever repay. Fight your own battles and bear your own suffering, but spare her the poverty that will come with your fresh start. She doesn’t deserve even a shadow of the misfortune that’s fallen on her today, and fate shouldn’t punish the innocent for the guilty.

I know you plan to leave without taking anything. Don’t ask how I know, I just do.

Listen, Albert. Twenty-four years ago, I returned home proud and joyful. I had a fiancée, a beautiful girl I adored. I’d saved a hundred and fifty gold coins through endless hard work. That money was for her, for our future. Knowing the dangers of the sea, I buried our treasure in the little garden of my father’s house in Marseilles. Your mother knows that house well.

Recently, I passed through Marseilles and visited the old place. That evening, I took a shovel and dug in the corner where I’d hidden my treasure. The iron box was still there, untouched, beneath a fig tree my father planted the day I was born.

Well, Albert, this money was meant to bring comfort to the woman I loved. Now, through strange and painful circumstances, it can serve the same purpose. Oh, understand my pain, I who could offer that poor woman millions now return only this forgotten piece of bread from my humble past, from the day I was torn from the one I loved.

You’re generous, Albert, but pride or resentment might blind you. If you refuse me, if you ask someone else for what I have the right to offer, it would be ungenerous. You’d be refusing to save your mother’s life from a man whose father your father left to die in poverty and despair."

Albert stood pale and still, waiting to hear what his mother would decide.

Mercedes looked toward heaven with an expression beyond words. "I accept it," she said. "He has the right to pay this dowry, which I’ll take with me to a convent."

Putting the letter against her heart, she took her son’s arm. With firmer steps than even she expected, she walked downstairs.

Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had returned to the city with Emmanuel and Maximilian. Their mood was cheerful. Emmanuel didn’t hide his joy at the peaceful resolution and spoke loudly about his relief. Morrel, sitting in the corner of the carriage, let his brother-in-law’s happiness flow freely while feeling equal joy inside, though his only showed on his face.

At the city gate, they met Bertuccio waiting motionless like a sentinel. Monte Cristo leaned out the window, exchanged a few quiet words with him, and the steward disappeared.

"Count," Emmanuel said when they reached the plaza, "drop me at my door so my wife won’t worry about us for a single moment longer."

"If it weren’t ridiculous to show off our success, I’d invite you both to our house. But you probably have someone waiting anxiously for you. So we’ll say goodbye here, my friend."

"Wait," Monte Cristo said. "Don’t leave me without both my companions. Go home to your charming wife, Emmanuel, and give her my compliments. Morrel, come with me to the Champs-Élysées."

"Gladly," Maximilian said. "I actually have business in that direction."

"Should we wait for you for breakfast?" Emmanuel asked.

"No," the young man replied.

The door closed and the carriage continued.

"You see what good fortune I brought you?" Morrel said when alone with the Count. "Have you thought about it?"

"Yes," Monte Cristo said. "That’s why I wanted you near me."

"It’s miraculous!" Morrel continued, following his own thoughts.

"What is?" Monte Cristo asked.

"What just happened."

"Yes," the Count said. "You’re right, it is miraculous."

"Because Albert is brave," Morrel said.

"Very brave," Monte Cristo agreed. "I’ve seen him sleep with a sword hanging over his head."

"And I know he’s fought two duels," Morrel said. "How do you explain his behavior this morning?"

"All thanks to your influence," Monte Cristo replied with a smile.

"It’s lucky Albert isn’t in the army," Morrel said.

"Why?"

"An apology on the dueling ground!" the young captain said, shaking his head.

"Come now," the Count said gently. "Don’t share the prejudices of ordinary people, Morrel. Admit that if Albert is brave, he can’t be a coward. He must have had good reasons for acting as he did this morning. His behavior was actually heroic."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Morrel said. "But I’ll say like the Spanish proverb: ’He wasn’t as brave today as he was yesterday.’"

"You’ll have breakfast with me, won’t you?" the Count asked, changing the subject.

"No, I have to leave you at ten o’clock."

"An appointment for breakfast?" the Count asked.

Morrel smiled and shook his head.

"You still need to eat somewhere."

"What if I’m not hungry?" the young man said.

"Ah," the Count said, "I only know two things that destroy appetite, grief, and since I’m happy to see you cheerful, it’s not that. The other is love. And after what you told me this morning about your heart, I assume-"

"Well, Count," Morrel replied cheerfully, "I won’t argue."

"But you won’t make me your confidant, Maximilian?" the Count asked in a tone that showed how much he’d like to know the secret.

"I showed you this morning that I have a heart, didn’t I?"

Monte Cristo only answered by extending his hand to the young man.

"Well," Morrel continued, "since that heart is no longer with you, it’s elsewhere, and I must go find it."

"Go," the Count said deliberately, "but promise me, if you face any obstacle, remember I have some power in this world. I’m happy to use that power for those I love, and I love you, Morrel."

"I’ll remember," the young man said, "like selfish children remember their parents when they need help. When I need you and the moment comes, I’ll come to you, Count."

"I’m counting on that promise. Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye until we meet again."

They’d arrived at the Champs-Élysées. Monte Cristo opened the carriage door. Morrel jumped out onto the pavement. Bertuccio was waiting on the steps. Morrel disappeared down the avenue, and Monte Cristo hurried to join Bertuccio.

"Well?" he asked.

"She’s leaving the house," the steward said.

"And her son?"

"His valet thinks he’s doing the same."

"Come." Monte Cristo took Bertuccio to his study, wrote the letter we just read, and gave it to the steward. "Go quickly," he said. "But first, tell Haydée I’ve returned."

"Here I am," a young woman’s voice said.

Haydée had run downstairs at the sound of the carriage, her face glowing with joy at seeing the Count return safely. Bertuccio left.

Every emotion of a daughter finding her father, every joy of a lover seeing her beloved, Haydée felt all of this during their reunion. Though less obvious, Monte Cristo’s joy was equally intense. For hearts that have suffered long, joy is like dew on parched ground, both absorb that blessed moisture falling on them, and nothing shows on the surface.

Monte Cristo was beginning to think, what he hadn’t dared believe for a long time, that there were two women named Mercedes in the world, and he might yet find happiness. His eyes, bright with joy, were reading the tears in Haydée’s gaze when suddenly the door opened. The Count frowned.

"Monsieur de Morcerf!" announced Baptistin, the name serving as his excuse.

The Count’s expression brightened.

"Which one?" he asked. "The son or the father?"

"The father."

"Oh!" Haydée exclaimed. "Isn’t it over yet?"

"I don’t know if it’s finished, my dear," Monte Cristo said, taking the young woman’s hands. "But I know you have nothing more to fear."

"But that wretched man-"

"That man can’t hurt me, Haydée," Monte Cristo said. "Only his son was a threat."

"What I’ve suffered, my lord, you’ll never know," the young woman said.

Monte Cristo smiled. "By my father’s tomb," he said, extending his hand over her head, "I swear to you, Haydée, if any misfortune happens, it won’t be to me."

"I believe you as if God himself had spoken," the young woman said, presenting her forehead to him.

Monte Cristo pressed a kiss to that pure, beautiful forehead, a kiss that made two hearts beat at once, one violently, the other heavily.

"Oh," the Count murmured, "will I be permitted to love again? Show Monsieur de Morcerf to the drawing room," he told Baptistin, while leading Haydée to a private staircase.