The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 5/Chapter 97
CHAPTER XCVII
ON THE ROAD TO BELGIUM
FEW minutes after the scene of confusion produced in the salons of M. Danglars by the unexpected appearance of the brigade of soldiers, and by the disclosure which had followed, the large hotel was deserted with a rapidity which the announcement of a case of plague or of cholera among the guests would have caused.
In a few minutes, through all the doors, down all the staircases, by every issue, each one had hastened to retire, or rather to fly; for it was one of those circumstances in which it is useless to attempt to impart that common consolation which makes even the best friends importunate under great catastrophes. There remained in the banker's hotel only Danglars, shut up in his cabinet, and making his statement to the officer of police; Madame Danglars, terrified, in the boudoir with which we are acquainted; and Eugénie, who, with haughty air and disdainful lip, had retired to her room with her inseparable companion, Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly.
As for the numerous servants (more numerous that evening than usual, for their number was augmented by the cooks and butlers of the Café de Paris), venting on their employers their anger at what they termed the insult, they collected in groups in the hall, in the kitchens, or in their rooms, thinking very little of their duty, which was thus naturally interrupted. Of all this household, agitated by such different interests, only two individuals deserve our notice; these are Mademoiselle Eugénie Danglars and Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly.
The bride had retired, as we said, with haughty air, disdainful lip, and the demeanor of an outraged queen, followed by her companion, paler and more affected than herself. On reaching her room, Eugénie locked her door, while Louise fell on a chair.
"Ah, what a dreadful thing!" said the young musician; "who would have suspected it? M. Andrea Cavalcanti a murderer―a galley-slave escaped—a convict!"
An ironical smile curled the lip of Eugénie. "In truth, I was fated," said she; "I escaped the Morcerf only to fall into the Cavalcanti."
"Oh, do not confound the two, Eugénie."
"Hold your tongue! The men are all infamous; and I am happy to be able now to do more than detest them, I despise them."
"What shall we do?" asked Louise.
"What shall we do?"
"Yes."
"Why, the same we had intended doing three days since—set off."
"What! although you are not now going to be married, you intend still"
"Listen, Louise! I hate this life of the fashionable world, always ordered, measured, ruled, like our music-paper. What I have always wished for, desired, and coveted, is the life of an artist, free and independent, relying only on my own resources, and accountable only to myself. Remain here! what for?—that they may try, a month hence, to marry me again; and to whom?—to M. Debray, perhaps, as it was once proposed. No, Louise, no! This evening’s adventure will serve for my excuse. I did not seek one, I did not ask for one. God sends me this, and I hail it joyfully!”
"How strong and courageous you are!" said the fair frail girl to her brunette companion.
"Did not you know me? Come, Louise, let us talk of our affairs. The post-chaise"
"Was happily bought three days since."
"Have you had it sent where we are to go for it?"
"Yes."
"Our passport?"
"Here it is."
And Eugénie, with her usual precision, opened a printed paper, and read:
"'M. Léon d’Armilly, twenty years of age; profession, artist; hair black, eyes black; traveling with his sister.'"
"Capital! How did you get this passport?"
"When I went to ask M. de Monte-Cristo for letters for the directors of the theaters at Rome and at Naples, I expressed my fears of traveling as a girl; he perfectly understood them, and undertook to procure for me a man’s passport; and two days after I received this, to which I have added with my own hand, 'traveling with his sister.'"
"Reflect well, Eugénie!"
"Oh, I have finished all my reflections! I am tired of hearing only of reports, of the end of the month, of up and down of Spanish funds, of Haitian paper. Instead of that, Louise—do you understand?—air, liberty, melody of birds, plains of Lombardy, Venetian canals, Roman palaces, the Bay of Naples. How much have we, Louise?"
The young girl to whom this question was addressed drew from an inlaid secrétaire a small portfolio with a lock, in which she counted twenty-three bank-notes.
"Twenty-three thousand francs," said she.
"And as much more, at least, in pearls, diamonds, and jewels," said Eugénie. "We are rich. With forty-five thousand francs we have enough to live on as princesses during two years, and comfortably during four; but before six months—you with your music, and I with my voice—we shall double our capital. Come, you shall take charge of the money, I of the jewel-box; so that if one of us had the misfortune to lose her treasure, the other would still have hers left. Now, the valise! let us make haste—the valise!"
"Stop!" said Louise, going to listen at Madame Danglars' door.
"What do you fear?"
"That we may be discovered."
"The door is locked."
"They may tell us to open it."
"They may if they like, but we will not."
"You are a perfect Amazon, Eugénie!" And the two young girls began to heap into a trunk all the things they thought they should require.
"There now," said Eugénie, "while I change my costume do you lock the valise." Louise pressed with all the strength of her little hands on the top of the portmanteau.
"But I cannot," said she; "I am not strong enough; do you shut it."
"Ah, you are right!" said Eugénie, laughing; "I forgot I was Hercules, and you only the pale Omphale!"
And the young girl, kneeling on the top, pressed the two parts of the portmanteau together, and Mademoiselle d'Armilly passed the bolt of the padlock through. When this was done, Eugénie opened a drawer, of which she kept the key, and took from it a wadded violet silk traveling cloak.
"Here," said she, "you will see I have thought of everything; with this cloak you will not be cold."
"But you?"
"Oh, I am never cold, you know! Besides, with these men's clothes"
"Will you dress here?"
"Certainly."
"Shall you have time?"
"Do not be uneasy, you little coward! All our servants are busy, discussing the grand affair. Besides, what is there astonishing, when you think of the grief I ought to be in, that I shut myself up?—tell me!"
"No, truly—you comfort me."
"Come and help me."
From the same drawer whence she had taken the mantle that she gave to Mademoiselle d'Armilly, who had already put it on, she took a complete man's costume, from the boots to the coat, and a provision of linen, where there was nothing superfluous, but every requisite. Then, with a promptitude which indicated this was not the first time she amused herself by adopting the garb of the opposite sex, Eugénie drew on the boots and pantaloons, tied her cravat, buttoned her waistcoat up to the throat, and put on a coat which admirably fitted her beautiful figure.
"Oh, that is very good!—indeed, it is very good!" said Louise, looking at her with admiration; "but that beautiful black hair, those magnificent braids, which made all the ladies sigh with envy, will they go under a man's hat like the one I see down there?"
"You shall see," said Eugénie. And seizing with her left hand the thick mass, which her long fingers could scarcely grasp, she seized with her right hand a pair of long scissors, and soon the steel met through the rich and splendid hair, which fell entire at the feet of the young girl, who leaned back to keep it from her coat. Then she passed to the front hair, which she also cut off, without expressing the least regret; on the contrary, her eyes sparkled with greater pleasure than usual under her eyebrows, black as ebony.
"Oh, the magnificent hair!" said Louise, with regret.
"And am I not a hundred times better thus?" cried Eugénie, smoothing the scattered curls of her hair, which had now quite a masculine appearance; "and do you not think me handsomer so?"
"Oh, you are beautiful—always beautiful!" cried Louise. "Now, where are we going?"
"To Brussels, if you like; it is the nearest frontier. We can go to Brussels, Liége, Aix-la-Chapelle; then up the Rhine to Strasburg. We will cross Switzerland, and go down into Italy, by Mount St. Gothard. Will that do?"
"Yes."
"What are you looking at?"
"I am looking at you; indeed, you are adorable like that! One would say you were carrying me off."
"And they would be right, pardieu!"
"Oh! I think you swore, Eugénie."
And the two young girls, whom every one might have thought plunged in grief, the one on her own account, the other from interest in her friend, burst out laughing, as they cleared away every visible trace of the disorder which had naturally accompanied the preparations for their escape. Then, having blown out their lights, with an inquiring eye, listening ear, and extended neck, the two fugitives opened the door of a dressing-room which led, by a side staircase, down to the yard, Eugénie going first, and holding with one arm the portmanteau, which by the opposite handle Mademoiselle d'Armilly scarcely raised with both hands. The yard was empty; the clock was striking twelve. The porter was not yet gone to bed. Eugénie approached softly, and saw the old man sleeping soundly in an arm-chair in his lodge. She returned to Louise, took up the portmanteau, which she had placed for a moment on the ground, and they reached the archway under the shadow of the wall.
Eugénie concealed Louise in an angle of the gateway, so that if the porter chanced to awake he might see but one person. Then placing herself in the full light of the lamp which lit the yard:
"Gate!" cried she, with her finest contralto voice and rapping at the window.
The porter got up as Eugénie expected, and even advanced some steps to recognize the person who was going out, but seeing a young man striking his boot impatiently with his riding-whip, he opened it immediately. Louise slid through the half-open gate like a snake, and bounded lightly forward. Eugénie, apparently calm, although in all probability her heart beat somewhat faster than usual, went out in her turn.
A porter was passing, they gave him the portmanteau; then the two young girls, having told him to take it to No. 36, Rue de la Victoire, walked behind this man, whose presence comforted Louise. As for Eugénie, she was strong as a Judith or a Dalilah. They arrived at the appointed spot. Eugénie ordered the porter to put down the portmanteau, gave him some pieces of money, and, having rapped at the shutter, sent him away. The shutter where Eugénie had rapped was that of a little laundress, who had been previously apprised, and was not yet gone to bed. She opened the door.
"Mademoiselle," said Eugénie, "let the porter get the post-chaise from the coach-house, and fetch some post-horses from the post-station. Here are five francs for his trouble."
"Indeed," said Louise, "I admire you, and I could almost say respect you." The laundress looked on in astonishment, but as she had been promised twenty louis, she made no remark.
In a quarter of an hour the porter returned with a post-boy and horses, which were harnessed, and put to the post-chaise in a minute, while the porter fastened the portmanteau on with the assistance of a cord and strap.
"Here is the passport," said the postilion; "which way are we going, young gentleman?"
"To Fontainebleau," replied Eugénie, with an almost masculine voice.
"What do you say?" said Louise.
"I am giving the slip," said Eugénie; "this woman to whom we have given twenty louis may betray us for forty; we will soon alter our direction."
And the young girl jumped into the britska, which was admirably arranged for sleeping in, without scarcely touching the step.
"You are always right," said the singing-governess, seating herself by the side of her friend.
A quarter of an hour afterward the postilion, having been put in the right road, passed, cracking his whip, through the gateway of the Barrière Saint-Martin.
"Ah!" said Louise, breathing freely, "here we are out of Paris."
"Yes, my dear, and the escape is good and well effected," replied Eugénie.
"Yes, and without violence," said Louise.
"I shall bring that forward as an extenuating circumstance," replied Eugénie.
These words were lost in the noise which the carriage made in rolling over the pavement of La Villette. Danglars had lost his daughter.