CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CRISIS.
"At last!" cried the Marquis, when the news of Fanfar's death reachedhim. He sent for Magdalena.
"Madame!" he said, "rejoice with me. Let us forget our mutual wrongs,for a new horizon stretches before us. All our anxieties are over. Theman who stood between us and the possession of a fortune is dead!"
"Of whom do you speak?"
"Of this Fanfar, who, after making an attempt on the life of our king,was struck dead in the court-room during his trial."
"And this Fanfar was the son of Simon de Fongereues?"
"Yes, Madame, of my brother. And our father, who hated us, as you know,left the larger part of his fortune in the care of a fanaticalbody-servant of his, who held it as in trust for Simon's son whenever heshould find him. He refused to relinquish this trust until he had proofof the death of the youth. Now he must be made to speak, for the onlyheir of the Fongereues fortune is myself, and I shall appeal to thelaw."
The Marquise talked with her husband for a long time. The next thing todo was to make Gudel speak frankly. This he had no hesitation in doing,and he again told the story he had told to the Marquis.
As to Pierre Labarre, of course he could make no further resistance. Solong as the Marquis knew that Fanfar was living he had been obliged tobe cautious; now no such reason existed.
The dreams of the Marquis were realized--a million for the Jesuits, andthe gratification of his ambition and pride.
"Our son will be rich and happy!" said Magdalena, in an ecstasy of joy."But where is the boy? Write, Marquis, write to him at once. He must besuffering intolerably in this exile you have imposed upon him."
But Fongereues did not heed her words. He was thinking of other things.
"Cyprien has served me well!" he said. "How is it that I have not seenhim for two days?"
"I was speaking of our son!" answered Magdalena, angrily. "Do you notthink of your son? Do you not love your son?"
The Marquis took her hand. "It is time that we understood each other,"he said, sadly. "For twenty years I have lived a melancholy life. I haveyielded to your caprices, I have followed your counsel, and to what end?Look at me--my hair is gray, my face is seamed and lined. I have neverhad one hour of repose. For whom have I carried this burthen? Formyself? I despise mankind, I despise power, I despise you, and despisemyself. I have but one real passion in life, and that is my love forthis wretched boy who bears my name. What have you, his mother, donefor him?"
Magdalena turned away from her husband's melancholy eyes.
"Why I love him," continued the Marquis, "I know not, except thatcriminals love their children as wild beasts their young. You havequestioned me, and I have answered you. Are you satisfied?"
There came at this moment a hurried knock at the door.
"Come in!" cried the Marquis, angrily.
A valet entered with a very pale face.
"Monsieur! my young master--"
"Ah! he has come!" cried the Marquise, rushing to the door.
But the lacquey extended his arms, as if to stop her.
"Madame!" he began.
"Well! what is it?"
"My young master is dead!" said the lacquey, with trembling lips.
Then there went up the cry of two stricken hearts. The two criminalslooked at each other. They must have misunderstood the servant, who nowpointed to the stairs, up which were coming men bearing a bier. What wasunderneath the cloth? Was it their son? Impossible!
A young man appeared. Magdalena rushed toward him, without a word. Theyouth bowed his head.
"Yes, he is dead. Monsieur de Talizac has been killed in a duel!"
Magdalena sank upon the floor, unconscious. Fongereues laughedhysterically.
"Nonsense! My son has fought no duel," he said.
"Yes--with Arthur de Montferrand, whose sword pierced his heart!"
Fongereues tore the cloth from the bier. Yes, it was the Vicomte deTalizac. The wretched father tried to speak. Every muscle in his facequivered. The servants fell back, shocked by all this agony.
"Tell me all!" he said at last.
"There is little to tell, sir, beyond the bare fact. I have, however, aletter which the Vicomte gave me before he went on the ground."
Magdalena snatched this letter and tore it open. It contained but oneline:
"Faithless parents, I curse you with my dying breath!"
These words, coming from beyond the tomb, were terrible.
At this moment the door opened. An old man, with head uncovered andlong, white hair, stood there.
"The Vicomte de Talizac is dead!" whispered one of the servants.
The stranger started, and, with a compassionate look, laid his hand onthe shoulder of the Marquis, who was kneeling by the body of his son.The Marquis looked up and shrank back, saying:
"Pierre Labarre!"
It was, indeed, the old servant, sad eyed and hopeless. He had come toParis as quickly as possible, leaving Francoise and Caillette to follow.He went at once to the court-room, and there heard that Fanfar had beencarried to one of the lower rooms. Physicians had been sent for, who hadattributed his death to an aneurism.
"You are avenged, Pierre!" cried the Marquis. "Why are you here? Leavethis house at once!"
But the old man did not move.
"No!" he said, "you must hear me. We have not done with each other." Heextended his hand toward the dead body. "You may well weep for your son,Marquis, but you may also weep for Fanfar."
"Yes, because this fellow, for whom you would have stolen my father'sfortune, is dead. This Fanfar was my brother's son--I know it, and youknow it, too, but you do not know that I killed him!"
Labarre drew back in terror.
"No, no--do not say that!"
"Why should I not say it? It is true. I discovered the secret of hisbirth, and I removed him from my path--I poisoned him!"
The old man staggered to the wall, where he leaned for support.
"Now, denounce me!" cried the Marquis, "and I am ready to mount thescaffold. I killed this Fanfar, and this thought is all that gives me aray of comfort!"
"Hush! This Fanfar was not the Marquis de Fongereues, he was not Simon'sson. Do you remember a night which you once spent in a humble cottage atSachemont?"
"Sachemont?" repeated Fongereues.
"That night two men claimed the hospitality of an old man. One of thesestrangers was a Frenchman, but he was base enough to insult the daughterof the old man. He did worse--he committed a dastardly crime. That man,sir, was known as the Marquis de Talizac!"
Fongereues sat with his eyes fixed on the old man.
"The Vicomte fled like a scoundrel, leaving dishonor and despair on histrack. But he never knew that the poor girl gave birth to a child--ason."
"What of that!" cried Fongereues, who did not choose to understand.
"Silence! I have not finished. Do you know who took that child andeducated him? It was the brother whom you hated. Your victim was deadand he married her sister, and later, when you set the Cossacks on thevillage of Leigoutte and bade them to kill women and children, there wasone child named Jacques and that child was your son."
Fongereues was deadly pale; large drops stood on his brow.
"You lie!" cried the Marquis, "Fanfar was my brother's son."
"Here is the certificate of his birth," said Pierre. "You knew Simon'swriting, for you intercepted his letters to your father. Look! theselines tell the story."
"I, eldest son of the Marquis de Fongereues, declare, on my sacred word of honor, that the child who bears my name and passes for my son, is the child of Jacqueline Lemaitre and the Vicomte de Talizac."
"The paper is signed with Simon's full name."
The Marquis fell on his knees.
"Ah! Monsieur, these are terrible days, but you will not say again thatyou poisoned Fanfar."
Fongereues shuddered, and endeavored to hide his face.
Labarre felt dizzy with horror. "Answer me," he repeat
ed.
Fongereues answered in a low voice:
"Kill me! I have killed my son!"
The old servant started forward as if to fell the Marquis to the earth,but suddenly he remembered his old master, the man whom he had loved sotenderly, and he could not harm his son. He half turned away.
"Tell me the whole," he faltered, "I must know the whole."
"Yes," stammered the Marquis. "Cyprien, who is my slave, poisoned him. Idetermined to have the fortune without longer delay. I bade him do thisdeed, and he obeyed me. I am accursed!"
Labarre went toward the door.
"Farewell!" he said.
"No," cried the Marquis, "you must not leave me alone with this deadman. I am afraid! You must take me too to see the other."
Labarre stopped short. "Where was Cyprien?" he asked hastily.
The Marquis understood him. He rang his bell furiously. It might beafter all that he was not guilty of Fanfar's death.
A servant entered. The Marquis asked for Cyprien; he had not been seenin the hotel for two days, the lacquey replied.
The Marquis turned to his father's servant.
"I have grave duties to perform," he said, quietly, "first I must see myson. You must go with me."
Labarre shook his head.
"In the name of my brother!" said Fongereues. Then stopping, he said,suddenly, "Does this fortune left by my father really exist?"
Labarre started. Could it be that this man at this time could bethinking of money?
"You misunderstand me!" cried the Marquis, "but never mind, answer me!"
"The money is safe," said Pierre.
"And you can give me a million to-morrow?"
"What do you want of a million?"
"Can you give it to me, that is the question?"
"I can."
Fongereues wrote a few words, and rang the bell.
"Take this letter to Monsieur Fernando de Vellebri, and see that thereis no delay. And now, Pierre, come with me."
The Son of Monte-Cristo Page 40
