CHAPTER XLVII.
THE SPECTRE.
Just as Benedetto leaped into the Seine, another man entered the roomwhere the victims lay. This man was Sanselme.
It will be remembered that the former convict had been present at theconversation in which Fanfar and his companions resolved to rescueEsperance. The sick man, unable to move, still down with fever, saw themgo.
The mad woman also remained in the room, saying over and over again:"Benedetto is my son, my son, and he killed me!" While Sanselme repeatedJane's name without cessation. By degrees his strength returned to him,his nerves were all in a quiver.
Jane in danger and he lying there idle! No, no, that could not be! Herose from the bed, and supporting himself by the wall, got out of thehouse. Where was he going? He knew not. He endeavored to collect histhoughts, and suddenly a name stood out clear in his brain.Monte-Cristo, yes it was to the hotel of Monte-Cristo that he must go.There, at all events, he should find Fanfar, and together they wouldlook for Jane. At first Sanselme could hardly walk, but his tread becamegradually firmer. Just as he reached the Hotel de Monte-Cristo, he sawthe carriage drive out of the court-yard.
A strange phenomenon now took place. Sanselme drew a long breath andbegan to run after the carriage--he felt no more lassitude nor weakness.His entire vital strength was concentrated in his superhuman effort. Andthis man who just now could not hold himself erect, ran on swiftlywithout hesitation. With his eyes on the carriage lamps he followed themunerringly. Somnambulists and madmen alone do such things. And Sanselmeran as if he were in a dream. He saw the carriage stop at last, and heheard violent blows upon a door. And then he entered as well as theothers, and appeared on the scene just as Benedetto leaped from thewindow.
Sanselme beheld Jane, and in that moment of agony his broken, bleedingheart loosed its grasp upon his secret, for he cried out:
"Jane! my daughter! My beloved daughter!"
Fanfar instantly understood the truth and laid his hand compassionatelyon his shoulder.
"Courage!" he said, gently.
But Sanselme shook off the hand, and before any one knew what he meantto do, he climbed upon the window, crying:
"Benedetto! You shall not escape!"
And he, too, leaped into the water. Benedetto was scarce a minute inadvance.
Benedetto had made a mistake. He knew of a secret egress from thishouse, but he forgot it, so great was his fear.
Fear? Yes. For the first time in his life he had made an attack onMonte-Cristo, and in spite of his audacity, knew perfectly well thatthe mere presence of the Count would cause him to tremble with fear. Hedid not wish to die, and therefore fled by the first path that presenteditself. And after all, to swim the Seine was a trifle to the former_forcat_. He was strong and a good swimmer, but the height from which hesprang was so great that at first he was almost stunned. The water wasicy cold. He first thought of climbing again to the same shore, but hisadversaries might be watching and he might fall into their hands; whileon the other bank the forest of Neuilly offered him a sure refuge. Hetherefore swam across. The current was strong, but he and Sanselme hadknown a worse and heavier sea when they escaped from Toulon. It wasstrange, the persistency with which this name returned to him. At thissame moment he heard a dull noise behind him as if some one leaped intothe water. Could it be that one of his enemies had started in pursuit?He found that he was making little progress and that his strength wasgoing. He allowed himself to float for a few minutes, and in the silencefelt convinced that some one was pursuing him. But what nonsense it wasin such darkness to make such an attempt. Benedetto now allowed himselfto be carried on by the current, crossing the river obliquely, andmanaged to make no noise whatever as he swam. And yet as he listened heheard the same sound behind him at about the same distance. And nowBenedetto beheld the shore. In a few minutes he would be safe, and whenon firm ground he could look out for himself. He sneered to himself.What nonsense all this talk was of punishment for crime. He had managedto escape so far! Finally he stood on the shore. He heard a cry from thewater. He understood it. It came from his pursuer, who was now nearenough to see that his prey had escaped him. He was right.
Sanselme had not lost sight of Benedetto, and had felt sure of catchinghim; but he had been struck on the shoulder by a piece of floating wood.The pain was excessive, and he lost his power of swimming. In thismoment Benedetto escaped him. He could dimly see his form on the shore,and then the man's shadow was lost in the shadow of the woods. Sanselmeuttered a groan. This man had killed Jane, and would now go unpunished.Up to this moment the former convict had been sustained by unnaturalstrength, but now this strength was gone. He could do no more andbelieved himself to be dying. Suddenly he felt something within reach ofthe hands with which he was beating the water like a drowning dog. Itwas a rope. A schooner had been wrecked here and a rope was hanging fromits broken hull. Sanselme clung to it with the energy of despair, and byit raised himself on board the schooner and fell on the deck utterlyexhausted, morally and physically.
Suddenly he uttered a wild cry. He had been looking intently at the spotwhere he had seen Benedetto disappear. He saw the man's shadow again,but it was not alone. With it was something white, that looked like aspectre. And the spectre was gliding over the ground in the direction ofthe wreck on which Sanselme was crouching.
What was it? One form was certainly Benedetto's; but the spectre--was itanything more than the fog that rises at dawn along the riverside? Notso--it was a phantom; the terrible resurrection of the Past.
Benedetto had run toward the wood, believing that there he would besafe. Suddenly his heart stood still, for before him rose a tall formdraped in white, like a winding-sheet. This man was a coward at heart,and had been all his life afraid of ghosts. But he encouraged himselfnow, saying that it was mist from the river, which a breath of windwould dissipate. Summoning all his courage, he stopped and went towardthis strange form. It was a form and not mist; but its height lookedunnatural as it stood leaning against a tree. Why did not Benedetto turnaside, either to the right or the left? He could not; something strongerthan his will drew him toward the nameless Thing. Finally Benedetto laidhis hand on the shoulder of the Thing. It turned and lifted its head.Then an appalling shriek, which was like nothing human, came fromBenedetto's lips. This spectre was that of his mother, whom he hadstabbed in the breast at Beausset so many years before. And the ghoststood gazing at him with her large eyes, while her gray tresses floatedin the wind.
Benedetto did not seek to understand. He believed that the dead hadrisen from the tomb. She looked at him for a full minute. Then she said:
"Come, Benedetto; come, my son."
And the long, skeleton-like hand was laid on the parricide's wrist withsuch an icy pressure that Benedetto felt as if a steel ring were beingriveted on his arm.
"Come, my son," said the mad woman; "you will never leave me again, willyou?"
She drew him gently along as he walked. He did not attempt to disengagehimself; he obeyed the summons as if it were from Death.
The phantom--that is to say, Madame Danglars, the poor, insanecreature--had escaped from Fanfar's house by the door which Sanselmeleft open, and having found her son thus strangely, lavished on himtender words, which in the ear of the dastard were like curses. Thusthey reached the shore, and it was not until Benedetto saw the Seineonce more before him that he realized what he was doing. He shook offthe hand on his wrist and began to run. He saw the wreck a foot or twofrom the shore, and with one leap he reached it, having little idea ofthe danger that awaited him there. The mad woman followed him and triedto put her arms around him. "You shall never leave me again, Benedetto!"she murmured.
Sanselme saw and heard it all. It seemed to him that it was somefrightful nightmare. She advancing and Benedetto retreating, the tworeached the other end of the wreck; their feet slipped, there was a dullsound as they fell, and the water opened to receive them. Sanselmeleaned over. He could see nothing, and heard not another sound.
> In the morning a corpse was found leaning over the gunwale, with eyesopen. One sailor said to another:
"A drunken man the less in the world!"
That was the only funeral sermon preached over Sanselme.
The Son of Monte-Cristo Page 69
