第202章

"Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to resist the desire of making a `stiff,' as you call it.""Yes, my good master," cried Bertuccio, casting himself at the count's feet, "it was simply vengeance -- nothing else.""I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that galvanizes you in this manner.""But, monsieur, it is very natural," returned Bertuccio, "since it was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished.""What! my house?"

"Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then.""Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-Meran, I think, the concierge said.What had you to revenge on the Marquis de Saint-Meran?""Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another.""This is strange," returned Monte Cristo, seeming to yield to his reflections, "that you should find yourself without any preparation in a house where the event happened that causes you so much remorse.""Monsieur," said the steward, "it is fatality, I am sure.

First, you purchase a house at Auteuil -- this house is the one where I have committed an assassination; you descend to the garden by the same staircase by which he descended; you stop at the spot where he received the blow; and two paces farther is the grave in which he had just buried his child.

This is not chance, for chance, in this case, is too much like providence.""Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence.Ialways suppose anything people please, and, besides, you must concede something to diseased minds.Come, collect yourself, and tell me all.""I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe Busoni.Such things," continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, "are only related under the seal of confession.""Then," said the count, "I refer you to your confessor.Turn Chartreux or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I do not like any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not choose that my servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of an evening.I confess I am not very desirous of a visit from the commissary of police, for, in Italy, justice is only paid when silent -- in France she is paid only when she speaks.Peste, I thought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal smuggler, and an excellent steward;but I see you have other strings to your bow.You are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio.""Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward, struck with terror at this threat, "if that is the only reason I cannot remain in your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you, it will only be to go to the scaffold.""That is different," replied Monte Cristo; "but if you intend to tell an untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all.""No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, Iwill tell you all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a part of my secret; but, I pray you, go away from that plane-tree.The moon is just bursting through the clouds, and there, standing where you do, and wrapped in that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me of M.de Villefort."" What!" cried Monte Cristo, "it was M.de Villefort?""Your excellency knows him?"

"The former royal attorney at Nimes?"

"Yes."

"Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?""Yes."

"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most upright, the most rigid magistrate on the bench?""Well, monsieur," said Bertuccio, "this man with this spotless reputation" --"Well?"

"Was a villain."

"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, "impossible!""It is as I tell you."

"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo."Have you proof of this?""I had it."

"And you have lost it; how stupid!"

"Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered.""Really," returned the count, "relate it to me, for it begins to interest me." And the count, humming an air from "Lucia," went to sit down on a bench, while Bertuccio followed him, collecting his thoughts.Bertuccio remained standing before him.