Caderousse's knife, his shrouded lantern, his bunch of keys and his clothes, except for the waistcoat, which could not be found, were handed over to the clerk of the court, and the body was taken to the morgue.
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For a whole fortnight, no one in Paris spoke of anything except this daring attempted robbery at the count's. The dying man had signed a statement naming Benedetto as his murderer. The police were asked to put all their agents on the criminal's trail.
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Only Bertuccio went pale every time the name of Benedetto was mentioned in his presence, but there was no reason for anyone to notice the pallor on Bertuccio's cheeks.
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The count told everyone that this adventure had happened while he was in his house in Auteuil and that, consequently, he knew only what he had been told by Abbé Busoni. By sheer chance, the abbé had asked the count if he might spend the night at his house in order to do some research into one or two of the precious volumes in his library.
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Villefort, called in to establish the facts of the crime, had allocated the case to himself and was pursuing the investigation with all the passionate enthusiasm that he gave to every criminal case in which he was involved. But three weeks had already elapsed without the most active enquiries bringing any result; and society gossips were starting to forget about the attempted robbery at the Count of Monte Cristo's and the murder of the thief by his accomplice, turning instead to the forthcoming marriage of Mlle Danglars to Count Andrea Cavalcanti.
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The baron, consequently, adored Count Andrea Cavalcanti. The same could not be said of Mlle Eugénie Danglars. Having an instinctive horror of marriage, she had welcomed Andrea as a means of repelling Morcerf; but now that Andrea was coming too close, she began to feel a visible repulsion towards him. The baron may perhaps have noticed it but, as he could only attribute this feeling to a whim, he had pretended not to notice it.
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The marriage was more or less arranged and the young man received at the banker's as a future son-in-law.
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The elder Cavalcanti had been contacted by letter and had warmly approved of the match. Expressing deep regret that his duties absolutely forbade him to leave Parma, where he then was, he stated his intention of releasing a capital sum sufficient to give an income of 150,000 livres. It was agreed that the three million would be entrusted to Danglars, who would invest them. Some people had tried to sow doubt in the young man's mind about the solidity of his future father-in-law's position: Danglars had recently been making repeated losses on the Exchange; but the young man, with sublime confidence and disinterestedness, dismissed all these vain murmurings, and had the tact to say nothing about them to the baron.
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One morning Albert was awoken by his valet, announcing Beauchamp. He rubbed his eyes and asked for the visitor to be shown into the little smoking parlour on the ground floor. Then he dressed quickly and went down. Beauchamp was pacing up and down, but he stopped when he saw Albert.
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Meanwhile, the period of grace that Beauchamp had asked for had almost passed. During it, Morcerf had come to appreciate the value of Monte Cristo's advice when he told him to let the matter clear itself up. No one had remarked on the note about the general and no one had thought to identify the officer who had betrayed the castle of Janina with the noble count who sat in the Upper House.
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As for Beauchamp, he had not been seen since the day of Albert's visit and, whenever anyone asked for him, the reply was that he had left for a few days' journey. Where was he? Nobody knew.
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Even so, Albert felt insulted, because the intention to offend was quite obviously there, in the few lines that had wounded his honour. Moreover, the manner in which Beauchamp had ended their meeting had left a bitter taste in his mouth. For these reasons, he still harboured the idea of a duel but hoped, if Beauchamp would agree, that they might be able to disguise the real reason for it, even from their seconds.
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"Albert," Beauchamp said with an expression of grief that astonished the young man, "let's first sit down and talk."
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"Your decision to come and see me yourself, instead of waiting for the visit that I intended to pay on you today myself, seems to me like a good omen," said Albert. "Come, tell me straight away, can I offer you my hand and say: 'Beauchamp, admit your mistake and keep your friend,' or should I simply instruct you to choose your weapons?"
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"Let me make it easier for you then, by repeating my question: do you retract -- yes or no?"
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"Morcerf, one cannot answer yes or no to a question that touches on the honour, the social standing and the life of a man like Lieutenant-General the Comte de Morcerf, peer of the realm."
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"One can do what I did, Albert, which is to say: money, time and effort are nothing when it is a matter of the reputation and interests of an entire family. One says: more than probability is needed, we must have certainty if we are to accept a duel to the death with a friend. One says: if I cross swords or pull the trigger against a man whose hand I have shaken over the past three years, I must at least know why I am doing such a thing, so that I may arrive at the appointed place with my mind at rest and the easy conscience which a man needs when he must use his arm to save his life."
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"There are occasions," the journalist said, "when the difficulty lies in the answer itself."
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"Come, Monsieur: it seems to me that, before we sit down together, you must answer me."
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"So what can one do?"
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"Yes, I."
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"Very well, then," Morcerf asked impatiently, "what does all this mean?"
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"From Janina? You!"
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"It means that I have just come back from Janina."
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"Impossible!"
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"My dear Albert, here is my passport. Look at the visas: Geneva, Milan, Venice, Trieste, Delvino, Janina. Do you believe the authorities of a republic, a kingdom and an empire?"
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Albert looked at the passport, then again, with astonishment, at Beauchamp. "You went to Janina?" he said.
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"Albert, if you had been a foreigner, a stranger, or a mere lord like that Englishman who came to challenge me three or four months ago, and whom I killed to stop him bothering me, you will realize that I would not have taken such trouble. But I thought I owed you this mark of my consideration. I spent a week on the outward journey, a week on the return, plus four days in quarantine and forty-eight hours when I arrived: that adds up to my three weeks. I got back last night, and here I am."
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"My God! My God, what a roundabout story, Beauchamp, and still you won't tell me what I am waiting to hear."
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"But what?"
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Albert leapt up furiously to throw himself on Beauchamp, but he was restrained more by the other's compassionate look than by his outstretched hand.
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"Here," he said, taking a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "My dear friend, here is the proof of it."
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"My friend," Beauchamp said, in the most affectionate tone, "believe me, I should be delighted if I could apologize to you, and I should do so with all my heart; but alas…"
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"Afraid of admitting that your correspondent deceived you? Now, now, Beauchamp, don't be proud! Admit it: no one can doubt your courage."
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Albert went deathly pale. He tried to speak but the words failed on his lips.
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"Yes."
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"The traitor who delivered the castles of the man in whose service he was…"
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"Yes."
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"The report was correct, my friend."
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"What! The French officer…"
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"This Fernand?"
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"You seem reluctant."
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"Forgive me for saying this, my friend: that man was your father!"
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"Oh, it's not that," the journalist muttered. "On the contrary…"
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"Yes, I'm afraid."
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"The truth is, Albert…"
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The signatures had been validated by the consul.
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Albert unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a sworn statement by four leading inhabitants of Janina, confirming that Colonel Fernand Mondego, army instructor in the service of the Vizier Ali Tebelin, had betrayed the castle of Janina for a payment of two thousand purses.
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Albert staggered and fell, dumbstruck, into a chair. This time there could be no doubt: the family name was there. And, after a moment of painful silence, his heart swelled, the veins bulged on his neck and a stream of tears burst from his eyes.
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Beauchamp, who had looked with the utmost compassion on the young man as he gave way to his grief, came over to him and said: "Do you understand, now, Albert? I wanted to see everything and to judge everything for myself, in the hope that the explanation would be favourable to your father and that I could do full justice to him. But on the contrary the information that I obtained stated that the instructing officer, Fernand Mondego, promoted by Ali Pasha to the rank of governor-general, was none other than Count Fernand de Morcerf. So I returned, reminding myself of the honour you had done in admitting me to your friendship, and I hastened round to see you."
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"I hastened round to see you," Beauchamp continued, "to say this to you: Albert, the sins of our fathers, in these times of action and reaction, cannot be visited on their children. Albert, few men have gone through the revolutions in which we were born, without some spot of mire or of blood staining their soldier's uniform or their judge's robe. No one in the world, Albert, now that I have all the proof, now that I am the master of your secret, can force me to engage in a combat that your conscience, I am sure, would tell you was a crime. But I have come to offer you what you no longer have the right to demand of me. This proof, these revelations, these statements that I alone possess -- would you like me to make them disappear? Would you like this terrible secret to remain between the two of us? Protected by my word of honour, it will never cross my lips. Tell me, Albert: would you like that? Is that what you want, my friend?"
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Albert, still stretched out in the chair, was covering both eyes with his hands, as if to prevent the daylight reaching him.
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"Let all this be forgotten like a bad dream," Beauchamp said. "Let it vanish like those last sparks flickering on the blackened paper, and let all fade like that wisp of smoke drifting away from those silent ashes."
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"Here, then," said Beauchamp, handing the papers to him.
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Albert fell on Beauchamp's neck. "Oh, noble heart," he cried.
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"Yes, yes," said Albert. "Let nothing remain except the eternal friendship that I owe to my saviour, a friendship that my children will transfer to yours, a friendship that will always remind me that I owe you the blood in my veins, the life in my body and the honour of my name… For, if such a thing were to be known, oh, Beauchamp! I am telling you, I would blow my brains out. Or else, no, my poor mother! I should not wish to kill her at the same time -- otherwise, I should go abroad."
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Albert seized them convulsively, crumpled them, twisted them and considered tearing them up; but, fearing that the smallest scrap might be blown away in the wind and come back to haunt him one day, he went across to the candle which he kept burning continually to light cigars, and let the flames devour them to the last fragment. "Dear friend, best of friends!" he muttered, as he burned the papers.
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"But that first note that you printed in your paper: where did it come from?" Albert exclaimed. "There is some secret hatred, some invisible enemy behind all this."
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"Come, come," Beauchamp said, clasping him by both hands. "Take heart."
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But the young man's unexpected and somewhat artificial joy was short-lived, and he soon relapsed into an even deeper melancholy.
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"My dear Albert!" Beauchamp said.
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"What is it, dear friend?" Beauchamp asked. "What is it?"
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"What it is," Albert said, "is that something is broken in my heart. You must understand, Beauchamp, that one cannot in an instant abandon that feeling of respect, of confidence and pride, that a father's spotless name inspires in his son. Oh, Beauchamp! How shall I face him? Shall I shrink back when he puts his lips to my forehead or withdraw my hand from his touch? Beauchamp, I am the most wretched of men. Oh, my mother, my poor mother!" he said, looking through tear-filled eyes at her portrait. "How you would have suffered, had you witnessed all this!"
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"Are you still going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?"
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"What makes you ask that now, Beauchamp?"
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"I don't think anything, but everything is possible. By the way…"
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"What! You don't think it's over yet?" Albert said in horror.
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"What?" Albert asked, seeing Beauchamp hesitate.
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"What!" Albert exclaimed, reddening. "Do you think Monsieur Danglars…"
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"I'm merely asking how your marriage plans stand. For heaven's sake, don't try to read anything more into my words than I intend, and don't give them more significance than they actually have!"
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"No," Albert said. "The engagement has been broken off."
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"All the more reason, then," said Beauchamp. "Courage, Albert! Let nothing show on your face. Carry your sorrow inside you as the cloud conceals ruin and death like a deadly secret that is understood only when the storm breaks. Come, my friend, gather strength for the moment when the storm will break."
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"Because, to my mind, the match may depend on the question that is uppermost in our thoughts just now."
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"Good," said Beauchamp. Then, seeing that his friend was about to relapse into melancholy, he said: "Come on, Albert, take my advice and let's go out. A ride round the Bois in a phaeton or on horseback will take your mind off things. Then we'll come back and have lunch somewhere, you can go off to your business and I'll go back to mine."
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"Good idea," said Albert. "But let's walk. I think it would do me good to tire myself out a little."
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"Yes," said Albert, "let's go and see the count. I like him."
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"Certainly," said Beauchamp; and the two friends set out, on foot, down the boulevard. When they got to the Madeleine, Beauchamp said: "Why, since we're going in this direction, let's go and see the Count of Monte Cristo. He'll take your mind off things. He's a wonderful person for raising one's spirits, because he never asks questions: in my opinion, people who don't ask too many questions give the best consolation."
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