Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  Monte Cristo summoned the Greek attendant, and bade her inquire whether it would be agreeable to her mistress to receive his visit. Haidee’s only reply was to direct her servant by a sign to withdraw the tapestried curtain that hung before the door of her boudoir, the framework of the opening thus made serving as a sort of border to the graceful tableau presented by the young girl’s picturesque attitude and appearance. As Monte Cristo approached, she leaned upon the elbow of the arm that held the narghile, and extending to him her other hand, said, with a smile of captivating sweetness, in the sonorous language spoken by the women of Athens and Sparta, “Why demand permission ere you enter? Are you no longer my master, or have I ceased to be your slave?” Monte Cristo returned her smile. “Haidee,” said he, “you well know.”

  “Why do you address me so coldly—so distantly?” asked the young Greek.

  “Have I by any means displeased you? Oh, if so, punish me as you will; but do not—do not speak to me in tones and manner so formal and constrained.”

  “Haidee,” replied the Count, “you know that you are now in France, and are free.”

  “Free to do what?” asked the young girl.

  “Free to leave me.”

  “Leave you? Why should I leave you?”

  “That is not for me to say; but we are now about to mix in society—to visit and be visited.”

  “I don’t wish to see anybody but you.”

  “And should you see one whom you could prefer, I would not be so unjust”—

  “I have never seen anyone I preferred to you, and I have never loved anyone but you and my father.”

  “My poor child,” replied Monte Cristo, “that is merely because your father and myself are the only men who have ever talked to you.”

  “I don’t want anybody else to talk to me. My father said I was his ‘joy’—you style me your ‘love,’—and both of you have called me ‘my child.’“

  “Do you remember your father, Haidee?” The young Greek smiled. “He is here, and here,” said she, touching her eyes and her heart. “And where am I?” inquired Monte Cristo laughingly.

  “You?” cried she, with tones of thrilling tenderness, “you are everywhere!” Monte Cristo took the delicate hand of the young girl in his, and was about to raise it to his lips, when the simple child of nature hastily withdrew it, and presented her cheek. “You now understand, Haidee,” said the Count, “that from this moment you are absolutely free; that here you exercise unlimited sway, and are at liberty to lay aside or continue the costume of your country, as it may suit your inclination. Within this mansion you are absolute mistress of your actions, and may go abroad or remain in your apartments as may seem most agreeable to you. A carriage waits your orders, and Ali and Myrtho will accompany you whithersoever you desire to go. There is but one favor I would entreat of you.”

  “Speak.”

  “Guard carefully the secret of your birth. Make no allusion to the past; nor upon any occasion be induced to pronounce the names of your illustrious father or illfated mother.”

  “I have already told you, my lord, that I shall see no one.”

  “It is possible, Haidee, that so perfect a seclusion, though conformable with the habits and customs of the East, may not be practicable in Paris. Endeavor, then, to accustom yourself to our manner of living in these northern climes as you did to those of Rome, Florence, Milan, and Madrid; it may be useful to you one of these days, whether you remain here or return to the East.” The young girl raised her tearful eyes towards Monte Cristo as she said with touching earnestness, “Whether we return to the East, you mean to say, my lord, do you not?”

  “My child,” returned Monte Cristo “you know full well that whenever we part, it will be no fault or wish of mine; the tree forsakes not the flower—the flower falls from the tree.”

  “My lord,” replied Haidee, “I never will leave you, for I am sure I could not exist without you.”

  “My poor girl, in ten years I shall be old, and you will be still young.”

  “My father had a long white beard, but I loved him; he was sixty years old, but to me he was handsomer than all the fine youths I saw.”

  “Then tell me, Haidee, do you believe you shall be able to accustom yourself to our present mode of life?”

  “Shall I see you?”

  “Every day.”

  “Then what do you fear, my lord?”

  “You might find it dull.”

  “No, my lord. In the morning, I shall rejoice in the prospect of your coming, and in the evening dwell with delight on the happiness I have enjoyed in your presence; then too, when alone, I can call forth mighty pictures of the past, see vast horizons bounded only by the towering mountains of Pindus and Olympus. Oh, believe me, that when three great passions, such as sorrow, love, and gratitude fill the heart, ennui can find no place.”

  “You are a worthy daughter of Epirus, Haidee, and your charming and poetical ideas prove well your descent from that race of goddesses who claim your country as their birthplace. Depend on my care to see that your youth is not blighted, or suffered to pass away in ungenial solitude; and of this be well assured, that if you love me as a father, I love you as a child.”

  “You are wrong, my lord. The love I have for you is very different from the love I had for my father. My father died, but I did not die. If you were to die, I should die too.” The Count, with a smile of profound tenderness, extended his hand, and she carried it to her lips.

  Monte Cristo felt a stir in his heart that he had not known in quite a long time. Young Haidee had thawed the ice coating on his chest and melted the places beneath it into something new, something that may well, in fact, belong to her.

  “My love, I know what you are asking; I hear well what you say but…” his speech trailed away as the young woman pressed fluttering kisses across his palm and up to his wrist. He had felt these lips on his skin before and just as it had been in previous occurrences he found himself unable to halt her mouth. That beautiful coral pout drove him mad with wanting and God help him he would have her again and it would never be enough.

  “Order me to desist, my lord, and I will,” Haidee murmured, her mouth still flush with the pale skin of his wrist. She was a young woman, only coming into her desires and her love for the Count only made it more difficult to hold her yearning at bay.

  He did not reply, simply reached a hand to cup her cheek and drew her mouth to his own.

  Haidee had never loved anyone like this man and she doubted she ever would again. One day, when the time was right, she would avail him of her love but for now simply his touch was enough; to know that he wanted her as much as she him was the perfect recompense for the words she longed to voice.

  Each kiss he gave increased in passion and this was far more passionate than the last. He kissed her as if he was a man alone in the desert and her lips might provide water. Each pass of his mouth was more intimate and exacting than the previous. Finally, he broke away, a heady cloud of need hanging between them.

  Haidee exhaled heavily, his taste salty on her lips. She darted her tongue to moisten her newly ravaged skin and the moment the soft pink tip protruded, the Count seized upon her fully, pressing his body down onto her own.

  “You mustn’t tease me, Haidee; I am on a razor’s edge.”

  “Teasing, my lord, implies that the party has no intention of following through.” She punctuated her words with an incline of her hips drawing the Count even further against her body, a hiss escaping him.

  “We may have crossed the threshold of your innocence, my dear lady, but we have not gone so far as to never return. I won’t tarnish the reputation you have yet to build here,” he said each word as if it wounded his heart to utter them.

  Haidee licked her lips again and it was almost his undoing.

  “Then give me what you can, my lord, and I will be satisfied for the present.”

  Monte Cristo shifted his hips, the erection straining his breeches already sensitive to her
every movement.

  The Count exhaled audibly. “It seems, my beautiful Greek, we keep finding ourselves in this situation.”

  She giggled and continued the torturous shift of her hips below his. “Then stop resisting your urges, my lord, and we can move on to a new situation.”

  Being a man of few words he silenced her with his lips, intent on driving her to complete distraction while torturing himself. It would be so simple to give in, to allow himself comfort from the body she offered so willingly but he could not, she was so young, and had an entire life to live, a life without his dramatic existence, rife with turmoil.

  It took no time before the pair clutched each other’s clothing, in wanton abandon of how it might look to the servants. Monte Cristo employed some of the most loyal and discreet attendants in the country, if some kept the secret of his birth, none would question a rumpled jacket. The Count rose again for air, trying to calm the clamoring heartbeat inside his head. It had been many years since he felt desire, or anything other than vengeance. Could Haidee break through the dark mote of his hate and somehow let softer feelings back into his heart? The thought was both exhilarating and petrifying; the hate and vengeance was all he had, all he knew for so long.

  The thoughts calmed his ardor and he carefully disengaged himself from the shelter of the young woman’s arms.

  “What is it, my lord?” She asked.

  He went down on his knees and held her delicate hand in his palm, everything about both the Count and Haidee were so different. Her hand was delicate, fine, and the same beautiful tone as her olive skin. His was rough, worked over, and pale from the encasement of gloves on a daily basis; each small detail a reminder of how he should be treating her and how shameful his conduct was becoming. It took exacting patience to plan the demise of his enemies and yet he could not resist the charms of a beautiful young girl to see it through.

  “It’s not you, my love. I am behaving untoward, and I apologize. I should never have started to treat you thus.”

  He kissed her palm and stood, straightening his jacket.

  “From this day forward I will conduct myself the gentlemen I pretend to be. Please, accept my apology, dear lady.”

  He made a courtly bow and quickly exited her chamber before she could entice him to remain.

  As Haidee watched Monte Cristo make a hasty retreat she smiled. He tried magnificently to pretend no one could see into his heart and yet, she always could. In the end, he would be hers, body and mind, and there was absolutely nothing he might do to stop it. Before her assault of seduction was created, Haidee would help him complete his agenda in Paris before they moved on to a more congenial location.

  The mind of a young woman is a dangerous thing, even more so, some might say, than a vengeful man seeking recompense.

  Monte Cristo, thus attuned to the interview he proposed to hold with Morrel and his family, departed the house, murmuring as he went these lines of Pindar, “Youth is a flower of which love is the fruit; happy is he who, after having watched its silent growth, is permitted to gather and call it his own.” The carriage was prepared according to orders, and stepping lightly into it, the Count drove off at his usual rapid pace.

  Chapter 7. The Morrel Family.

  In a very few minutes the Count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay. The house was of white stone, and in a small court before it were two small beds full of beautiful flowers. In the concierge that opened the gate the Count recognized Cocles; but as he had but one eye, and that eye had become somewhat dim in the course of nine years, Cocles did not recognize the Count. The carriages that drove up to the door were compelled to turn, to avoid a fountain that played in a basin of rockwork,—an ornament that had excited the jealousy of the whole quarter, and had gained for the place the appellation of “The Little Versailles.” It is needless to add that there were gold and silver fish in the basin. The house, with kitchens and cellars below, had above the ground-floor, two stories and attics. The whole of the property, consisting of an immense workshop, two pavilions at the bottom of the garden, and the garden itself, had been purchased by Emmanuel, who had seen at a glance that he could make of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved the house and half the garden, and building a wall between the garden and the workshops, had let them upon lease with the pavilions at the bottom of the garden. So that for a trifling sum he was as well lodged, and as perfectly shut out from observation, as the inhabitants of the finest mansion in the Faubourg St. Germain. The breakfast-room was finished in oak; the salon in mahogany, and the furnishings were of blue velvet; the bedroom was in citron wood and green damask. There was a study for Emmanuel, who never studied, and a music-room for Julie, who never played. The whole of the second story was set apart for Maximilian; it was precisely similar to his sister’s apartments, except that for the breakfast-parlor he had a billiard-room, where he received his friends. He was superintending the grooming of his horse, and smoking his cigar at the entrance of the garden, when the Count’s carriage stopped at the gate.

  Cocles opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box, inquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and Monsieur Maximilian Morrel would see his excellency the Count of Monte Cristo. “The Count of Monte Cristo?” cried Morrel, throwing away his cigar and hastening to the carriage; “I should think we would see him. Ah, a thousand thanks, Count, for not having forgotten your promise.” And the young officer shook the Count’s hand so warmly, that Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of his joy, and he saw that he had been expected with impatience, and was received with pleasure. “Come, come,” said Maximilian, “I will serve as your guide; such a man as you are ought not to be introduced by a servant. My sister is in the garden plucking the dead roses; my brother is reading his two papers, the Presse and the Debats, within six steps of her; for wherever you see Madame Herbault, you have only to look within a circle of four yards and you will find M. Emmanuel, and ‘reciprocally,’ as they say at the Polytechnic School.” At the sound of their steps a young woman of twenty to five and twenty, dressed in a silk morning gown, and busily engaged in plucking the dead leaves off a noisette rose-tree, raised her head. This was Julie, who had become, as the clerk of the house of Thomson & French had predicted, Madame Emmanuel Herbault. She uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of a stranger, and Maximilian began to laugh. “Don’t disturb yourself, Julie,” said he. “The Count has only been two or three days in Paris, but he already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais is, and if he does not, you will show him.”

  “Ah, monsieur,” returned Julie, “it is treason in my brother to bring you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor sister. Penelon, Penelon!” An old man, who was digging busily at one of the beds, stuck his spade in the earth, and approached, cap in hand, striving to conceal a quid of tobacco he had just thrust into his cheek. A few locks of gray mingled with his hair, which was still thick and matted, while his bronzed features and determined glance well suited an old sailor who had braved the heat of the equator and the storms of the tropics. “I think you hailed me, Mademoiselle Julie?” said he. Penelon had still preserved the habit of calling his master’s daughter “Mademoiselle Julie,” and had never been able to change the name to Madame Herbault. “Penelon,” replied Julie, “go and inform M. Emmanuel of this gentleman’s visit, and Maximilian will conduct him to the salon.” Then, turning to Monte Cristo,—“I hope you will permit me to leave you for a few minutes,” continued she; and without awaiting any reply, disappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to the house by a lateral alley.

  “I am sorry to see,” observed Monte Cristo to Morrel, “that I cause no small disturbance in your house.”

  “Look there,” said Maximilian, laughing; “there is her husband changing his jacket for a coat. I assure you, you are well known in the Rue Meslay.”

  “Your family appears to be a very happy one,” said the Count, as if speaking to himself.

  “Oh, yes, I assure you, Count, they wan
t nothing that can render them happy; they are young and cheerful, they are tenderly attached to each other, and with twenty-five thousand francs a year they fancy themselves as rich as Rothschild.”

  “Five and twenty thousand francs is not a large sum, however,” replied Monte Cristo, with a tone so sweet and gentle, that it went to Maximilian’s heart like the voice of a father; “but they will not be content with that. Your brother-in-law is a barrister? a doctor?”

  “He was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the business of my poor father. M. Morrel, at his death, left 500,000 francs, which were divided between my sister and myself, for we were his only children. Her husband, who, when he married her, had no other patrimony than his noble probity, his first-rate ability, and his spotless reputation, wished to possess as much as his wife. He labored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000 francs; six years sufficed to achieve this object. Oh, I assure you, sir, it was a touching spectacle to see these young creatures, destined by their talents for higher stations, toiling together, and through their unwillingness to change any of the customs of their paternal house, taking six years to accomplish what less scrupulous people would have effected in two or three. Marseilles resounded with their well-earned praises. At last, one day, Emmanuel came to his wife, who had just finished making up the accounts. ‘Julie,’ said he to her, ‘Cocles has just given me the last rouleau of a hundred francs; that completes the 250,000 francs we had fixed as the limits of our gains. Can you content yourself with the small fortune, which we shall possess for the future? Listen to me. Our house transacts business to the amount of a million a year, from which we derive an income of 40,000 francs. We can dispose of the business, if we please, in an hour, for I have received a letter from M. Delaunay, in which he offers to purchase the goodwill of the house, to unite with his own, for 300,000 francs. Advise me what I had better do.’— ‘Emmanuel,’ returned my sister, ‘the house of Morrel can only be carried on by a Morrel. Is it not worth 300,000 francs to save our father’s name from the chances of evil fortune and failure?’— ‘I thought so,’ replied Emmanuel; ‘but I wished to have your advice.’— ‘This is my counsel:—Our accounts are made up and our bills paid; all we have to do is to stop the issue of anymore, and close our office.’ This was done instantly. It was three o’clock; at a quarter past, a merchant presented himself to insure two ships; it was a clear profit of 15,000. francs. ‘Monsieur,’ said Emmanuel, ‘have the goodness to address yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.’— ‘How long?’ inquired the astonished merchant. ‘A quarter of an hour,’ was the reply. And this is the reason, monsieur,” continued Maximilian, “of my sister and brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year.”