The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume I | Page 3

much as just the one who was the least expected to
do so.
Two days after the catastrophe, when Eugenie's most intimate friend,
the music teacher, Louise d'Armilly, came to condole with her, the
proud daughter of the banker repulsed her with a disdainful laugh.
"I am not made for marriage," she said; "at first I was engaged to
Monsieur de Morcerf, whose father shot himself a few days ago, in a fit
of remorse at having acquired his wealth by dishonorable means; then I
was to be married to Prince Cavalcanti, to add to the millions which my
father possesses, or which he perhaps does not call his own, the
imaginary wealth of a--jail-bird."
"What should be done now?" asked her modest friend in an anxious
tone.
"Fate shows my path," answered Eugenie, firmly. "I am not intended to
become the slave of a hypocritical and egotistical man. You are aware
that my inclination pushes me toward the stage, where my voice, my
beauty, and my independent spirit will assure me success. The time has
now arrived when I must decide: here, the scandal and contempt of the
crowd; there, applause, fame, and honor. I foresaw it all, though I did
not think it would come in such a shameful way. I have fifty thousand

francs pin-money, and my jewels are worth as much more. Order a
carriage; I have passports for both of us; in an hour we depart for
Belgium."
Louise listened to her friend speechless with astonishment; although
she knew the firmness of her character, she was not prepared for so
much independence.
"But we two girls alone," she hesitatingly said, "cannot--"
"I have looked out for that, too," replied Eugenie, calmly; "the passport
is made out in the name of Monsieur Leon d'Armilly and sister; while
you go for the carriage I will pack the trunks, and change myself into
Monsieur Leon d'Armilly."
Louise mechanically left the room to order the carriage to come to
Danglars' house. When she came back an elegant young man stood near
the trunks, whom no one would have recognized at the first glance as
the proud and courted beauty, Eugenie Danglars. With great difficulty
the two girls carried the trunk through a side door of the house and
deposited it at the next street corner. There the coachman awaited them,
and in a quarter of an hour they had left Paris.
Let us now return to Prince Cavalcanti, alias Benedetto, the hero of the
interrupted party at the banker Danglars' house.
With that cunning peculiar to criminals who scent danger from afar, he
had made his exit at the right time. After he had pocketed the diamonds
which formed a part of Eugenie's trousseau, and which were exposed in
the parlor, he scaled the window, slipped an overcoat over his dress,
and made his way out of the house. In thirty minutes he reached an
out-of-the-way suburb of Paris. Without losing a minute of his precious
time, he took a carriage, and left the city under the pretence of having
to catch a friend, who had departed for the chase on the previous day.
The big tip he gave the driver spurred the latter on, and at the end of an
hour Benedetto found himself at Loures, where he discharged his driver,
saying that he would spend the night there.

Benedetto now formed a decisive plan. He did not remain in Loures,
but went on foot to Chapelle-en-Serval, a mile distant, where he arrived
covered with dirt and dust, and entered the nearest inn, telling the host
that he had fallen from his horse. "If you could get me a coach or a
horse, so that I could return to Compiegne, I would be very grateful to
you."
The host really had a horse at his disposal, and in a quarter of an hour
Benedetto, accompanied by the host's son, was on the road to
Compiegne, which he reached about midnight. After he had discharged
the boy at the market-place of the little city, he went to the inn called
the Bell and Bottle, which he had patronized in former times, and to
which he was admitted now.
After Benedetto had eaten a hearty supper, he inquired if he could get a
room on the ground floor, but was forced to accept one on the first
story, as the other had been taken by a young man who had just arrived
with his sister.
The hunted culprit was so tired out by his exertions that he fell into a
deep sleep, and did not wake up early next morning, as he had intended,
but at nine o'clock. Struck by an indescribable fear, he quickly dressed
himself and peered through the window blinds. He recoiled in terror,
for his first glance had