"Yes, my mother," said Albert,
"I will return, and woe to the infamous wretch!
But first of all I must get there."
He went back to the room where he had left Monte Cristo.
Five minutes had sufficed to make a complete transformation in his appearance. His voice had become rough and hoarse; his face was furrowed with wrinkles; his eyes burned under the blue-veined lids, and he tottered like a drunken man.
"Count," said he, "I thank you for your hospitality, which I would gladly have enjoyed longer; but I must return to Paris."
"What has happened?"
"A great misfortune, more important to me than life.
Don't question me, I beg of you, but lend me a horse."
"My stables are at your command, viscount; but you will kill yourself by riding on horseback. Take a post-chaise or a carriage."
"No, it would delay me, and I need the fatigue you warn me of; it will do me good."
Albert reeled as if he had been shot, and fell on a chair near the door.
Monte Cristo did not see this second manifestation of physical exhaustion; he was at the window, calling,
"Ali, a horse for M. de Morcerf--quick! he is in a hurry!"
These words restored Albert; he darted from the room, followed by the count.
"Thank you!" cried he, throwing himself on his horse. "Return as soon as you can, Florentin.
Must I use any password to procure a horse?"
"Only dismount; another will be immediately saddled."
Albert hesitated a moment.
"You may think my departure strange and foolish," said the young man; "you do not know how a paragraph in a newspaper may exasperate one.
Read that," said he, "when I am gone, that you may not be witness of my anger."
While the count picked up the paper he put spurs to his horse, which leaped in astonishment at such an unusual stimulus, and shot away with the rapidity of an arrow.
The count watched him with a feeling of compassion, and when he had completely disappeared, read as follows:--
"The French officer in the service of Ali Pasha of Yanina alluded to three weeks since in the Impartial, who not only surrendered the castle of Yanina, but sold his benefactor to the Turks, styled himself truly at that time Fernand, as our esteemed contemporary states; but he has since added to his Christian name a title of nobility and a family name.
He now calls himself the Count of Morcerf, and ranks among the peers."
Thus the terrible secret, which Beauchamp had so generously destroyed, appeared again like an armed phantom; and another paper, deriving its information from some malicious source, had published two days after Albert's departure for Normandy the few lines which had rendered the unfortunate young man almost crazy.
Chapter 86.
The Trial.
At eight o'clock in the morning Albert had arrived at Beauchamp's door.
The valet de chambre had received orders to usher him in at once. Beauchamp was in his bath.
"Here I am," said Albert.
"Well, my poor friend," replied Beauchamp, "I expected you."
"I need not say I think you are too faithful and too kind to have spoken of that painful circumstance.
Your having sent for me is another proof of your affection.
So, without losing time, tell me, have you the slightest idea whence this terrible blow proceeds?"
"I think I have some clew."
"But first tell me all the particulars of this shameful plot."
Beauchamp proceeded to relate to the young man, who was overwhelmed with shame and grief, the following facts.
Two days previously, the article had appeared in another paper besides the Impartial, and, what was more serious, one that was well known as a government paper.
Beauchamp was breakfasting when he read the paragraph. He sent immediately for a cabriolet, and hastened to the publisher's office.
Although professing diametrically opposite principles from those of the editor of the other paper, Beauchamp--as it sometimes, we may say often, happens--was his intimate friend.
The editor was reading, with apparent delight, a leading article in the same paper on beet-sugar, probably a composition of his own.
"Ah, pardieu," said Beauchamp, "with the paper in your hand, my friend, I need not tell you the cause of my visit."
"Are you interested in the sugar question?" asked the editor of the ministerial paper.
"No," replied Beauchamp, "I have not considered the question; a totally different subject interests me."
"What is it?"
"The article relative to Morcerf."
"Indeed? Is it not a curious affair?"
"So curious, that I think you are running a great risk of a prosecution for defamation of character."
"Not at all; we have received with the information all the requisite proofs, and we are quite sure M. de Morcerf will not raise his voice against us; besides, it is rendering a service to one's country to denounce these wretched criminals who are unworthy of the honor bestowed on them."