The Son of Monte-Cristo
Chapter 31 : "Madame, there is a patriot in Milan who is putting his life at stake for the free

"Madame, there is a patriot in Milan who is putting his life at stake for the freedom of Italy. He offered his breast to the minions of Radetzky--"

"You are speaking of the Marquis Aslitta," said Haydee, gently.

"Yes, of him, and if you knew my past you would understand that it is the love I bear for him which keeps me alive."

"Speak freely, sister," whispered the handsome Greek, "perhaps I can help you."

"I am a Frenchwoman by birth," said the diva, timidly. "My youth was pa.s.sed in the capital. I was courted and petted, and yet I was not happy. My father, occupied with his financial operations, did not bother himself about me. My mother was just as unhappy as I was. I would have become desperate if a dear friend had not clung to me," and putting her arm about Milla's waist, the diva continued:

"We were both devoted to music. It was a subst.i.tute for happiness to me, and in the empire of harmony I tried to forget my barren life. A certain trouble happened to me; in a twinkling all the ties which bound me to home were broken, and I fled, with misery and desperation in my heart!

Madame, I was then hardly twenty, but virtue, honesty and love were already to me empty words!"

"Poor sister," murmured Haydee, "how you must have suffered."

"Yes, I suffered greatly," continued Luciola, with tears in her eyes.

"The world appeared to be a desert, and so I devoted myself to art. In Naples I discovered that there was something besides the applause of the crowd and one's own ambition! A group of young Italian n.o.blemen had come to Naples to free their brothers from the tyranny of the Austrian oppressors. One night we heard a loud noise. Not having anything to lose, I had my horse harnessed and rode in the direction of the cry.

Milla insisted upon accompanying me. When we reached the spot, a b.l.o.o.d.y fight was going on. We saw s.h.i.+ning uniforms. It was at Crotona in Calabria. On a ledge stood a young man, swinging a sword and urging his comrades on against the Austrians. A shot was fired and the young man fell. I urged my horse on toward the spot where I had last seen him. The unhappy man had fallen down a precipice. With the help of my strong tunic, Milla and I succeeded in drawing him up. We brought him to my house and I cared for him tenderly. Giorgio Aslitta awoke to new life.

His first words, as he gained sensibility, were:

_"Chi per la patria muore_ _Vessuto ha a.s.sai!"_

"Ah, the battle hymn of the Italians," interrupted Haydee, her eyes glistening.

"Yes; and when I heard these words I was saved! I believed in man again, and no love song ever sounded so sweet to me as that patriotic hymn."

CHAPTER XXVII

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Hardly had Luciola uttered the last words, than a deep voice said:

"Eugenie Danglars, I thank you in the name of humanity! The past is forgiven!"

The diva turned affrightedly around. The Count of Monte-Cristo stood before her, leading his son by the hand.

"Oh, how grateful I am to you," said Luciola, sobbing. "You recognized me?"

"I have never lost sight of you," replied Monte-Cristo, earnestly; "and the name you bear makes me a debtor to you."

"You shame me, count--you my debtor?"

"Rest satisfied with what I have told you. I am not at liberty to reveal the sorrowful past to you. But be a.s.sured that if I have ever caused you grief, it was because I am the instrument of a higher power."

"You know something about my parents. I beseech you, do not hide anything from me," implored Luciola. "I know that my father lives, and--"

"One moment," interrupted Monte-Cristo, giving Haydee a wink.

Immediately the young woman put her hand upon the boy's shoulder and led him out.

"I know that my father is doing Stock Exchange business in Germany,"

continued Luciola, "but my poor mother--"

"Your mother lives too," interrupted the count, sorrowfully, "though I do not know whether you will ever see her again."

"I do not understand," stammered La Luciola.

"Listen, my child, and be strong. Have you recognized the wretch who calls himself Count San Pietro?"

"Recognized? No; he is a wretch who merits the contempt of every one."

"I thought Eugenie Danglars was shrewder than that. Of course his scar disfigures his face so much as to make it almost unrecognizable. Who was it, Eugenie, who, in former years, had the audacity to ask your hand in marriage, and then--"

"Prince Cavalcanti!" exclaimed La Luciola, horror-stricken.

"Yes, if you wish to call him thus; in reality, though, he is the escaped galley slave and murderer, Benedetto."

"But what has the wretch to do with my mother?"

"Unfortunately, more than you think; to rob your mother of her treasure, a full million, the monster plunged a dagger in her breast--"

"Oh, the miserable coward! But you told me my mother lived--"

"Yes, she lives! The murderer did not strike the heart as he had intended, and, after months of agony, the poor woman recovered."

"Thank G.o.d! But where is she? I want to go to her and throw myself at her feet. My love will make her forget her grief," exclaimed Luciola, pa.s.sionately.

"That is impossible just now. Your mother had intended to enter a convent, but chance just happened to throw her in Valentine de Villefort's way. You know her?"

"Oh, certainly; Valentine, the only one whom I love to remember among all my past acquaintances."

"Well, then, Valentine is now Madame Morrel. They left France and went to India. They needed a governess for their little daughters, and so she asked Madame Danglars to take the position."

"Poor mother," muttered Luciola, sorrowfully. "How hard it must have been for her to take a dependent position."

"Madame Danglars," said the count, "accepted the offer with thanks, and she tenderly loves Valentine and her daughters."

"How long has my mother been in India?"

"About three years."

"And do you know where she is?"

"I do not know Morrel's present address, but expect a letter from him soon."