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Chapter 30 The Fifth of September.

  • The extension provided for by the agent of Thomson & French, at the momen_hen Morrel expected it least, was to the poor shipowner so decided a strok_f good fortune that he almost dared to believe that fate was at length grow_eary of wasting her spite upon him. The same day he told his wife, Emmanuel, and his daughter all that had occurred; and a ray of hope, if not o_ranquillity, returned to the family. Unfortunately, however, Morrel had no_nly engagements with the house of Thomson & French, who had shown themselve_o considerate towards him; and, as he had said, in business he ha_orrespondents, and not friends. When he thought the matter over, he could b_o means account for this generous conduct on the part of Thomson & Frenc_owards him; and could only attribute it to some such selfish argument a_his: — "We had better help a man who owes us nearly 300,000 francs, and hav_hose 300,000 francs at the end of three months than hasten his ruin, and ge_nly six or eight per cent of our money back again." Unfortunately, whethe_hrough envy or stupidity, all Morrel's correspondents did not take this view; and some even came to a contrary decision. The bills signed by Morrel wer_resented at his office with scrupulous exactitude, and, thanks to the dela_ranted by the Englishman, were paid by Cocles with equal punctuality. Cocle_hus remained in his accustomed tranquillity. It was Morrel alone wh_emembered with alarm, that if he had to repay on the 15th the 50,000 franc_f M. de Boville, and on the 30th the 32,500 francs of bills, for which, a_ell as the debt due to the inspector of prisons, he had time granted, he mus_e a ruined man.
  • The opinion of all the commercial men was that, under the reverses which ha_uccessively weighed down Morrel, it was impossible for him to remain solvent.
  • Great, therefore, was the astonishment when at the end of the month, h_ancelled all his obligations with his usual punctuality. Still confidence wa_ot restored to all minds, and the general opinion was that the complete rui_f the unfortunate shipowner had been postponed only until the end of th_onth. The month passed, and Morrel made extraordinary efforts to get in al_is resources. Formerly his paper, at any date, was taken with confidence, an_as even in request. Morrel now tried to negotiate bills at ninety days only, and none of the banks would give him credit. Fortunately, Morrel had som_unds coming in on which he could rely; and, as they reached him, he foun_imself in a condition to meet his engagements when the end of July came. Th_gent of Thomson & French had not been again seen at Marseilles; the da_fter, or two days after his visit to Morrel, he had disappeared; and as i_hat city he had had no intercourse but with the mayor, the inspector o_risons, and M. Morrel, his departure left no trace except in the memories o_hese three persons. As to the sailors of the Pharaon, they must have foun_nug berths elsewhere, for they also had disappeared.
  • Captain Gaumard, recovered from his illness, had returned from Palma. H_elayed presenting himself at Morrel's, but the owner, hearing of his arrival, went to see him. The worthy shipowner knew, from Penelon's recital, of th_aptain's brave conduct during the storm, and tried to console him. He brough_im also the amount of his wages, which Captain Gaumard had not dared to appl_or. As he descended the staircase, Morrel met Penelon, who was going up.
  • Penelon had, it would seem, made good use of his money, for he was newly clad.
  • When he saw his employer, the worthy tar seemed much embarrassed, drew on on_ide into the corner of the landing-place, passed his quid from one cheek t_he other, stared stupidly with his great eyes, and only acknowledged th_queeze of the hand which Morrel as usual gave him by a slight pressure i_eturn. Morrel attributed Penelon's embarrassment to the elegance of hi_ttire; it was evident the good fellow had not gone to such an expense on hi_wn account; he was, no doubt, engaged on board some other vessel, and thu_is bashfulness arose from the fact of his not having, if we may so expres_urselves, worn mourning for the Pharaon longer. Perhaps he had come to tel_aptain Gaumard of his good luck, and to offer him employment from his ne_aster. "Worthy fellows!" said Morrel, as he went away, "may your new maste_ove you as I loved you, and be more fortunate than I have been!"
  • August rolled by in unceasing efforts on the part of Morrel to renew hi_redit or revive the old. On the 20th of August it was known at Marseille_hat he had left town in the mailcoach, and then it was said that the bill_ould go to protest at the end of the month, and that Morrel had gone away an_eft his chief clerk Emmanuel, and his cashier Cocles, to meet the creditors.
  • But, contrary to all expectation, when the 31st of August came, the hous_pened as usual, and Cocles appeared behind the grating of the counter, examined all bills presented with the usual scrutiny, and, from first to last, paid all with the usual precision. There came in, moreover, two drafts whic_. Morrel had fully anticipated, and which Cocles paid as punctually as th_ills which the shipowner had accepted. All this was incomprehensible, an_hen, with the tenacity peculiar to prophets of bad news, the failure was pu_ff until the end of September. On the 1st, Morrel returned; he was awaited b_is family with extreme anxiety, for from this journey to Paris they hope_reat things. Morrel had thought of Danglars, who was now immensely rich, an_ad lain under great obligations to Morrel in former days, since to him it wa_wing that Danglars entered the service of the Spanish banker, with whom h_ad laid the foundations of his vast wealth. It was said at this moment tha_anglars was worth from six to eight millions of francs, and had unlimite_redit. Danglars, then, without taking a crown from his pocket, could sav_orrel; he had but to pass his word for a loan, and Morrel was saved. Morre_ad long thought of Danglars, but had kept away from some instinctive motive, and had delayed as long as possible availing himself of this last resource.
  • And Morrel was right, for he returned home crushed by the humiliation of _efusal. Yet, on his arrival, Morrel did not utter a complaint, or say on_arsh word. He embraced his weeping wife and daughter, pressed Emmanuel's han_ith friendly warmth, and then going to his private room on the second floo_ad sent for Cocles. "Then," said the two women to Emmanuel, "we are indee_uined."
  • It was agreed in a brief council held among them, that Julie should write t_er brother, who was in garrison at Nimes, to come to them as speedily a_ossible. The poor women felt instinctively that they required all thei_trength to support the blow that impended. Besides, Maximilian Morrel, thoug_ardly two and twenty, had great influence over his father. He was a strong- minded, upright young man. At the time when he decided on his profession hi_ather had no desire to choose for him, but had consulted young Maximilian'_aste. He had at once declared for a military life, and had in consequenc_tudied hard, passed brilliantly through the Polytechnic School, and left i_s sub-lieutenant of the 53d of the line. For a year he had held this rank, and expected promotion on the first vacancy. In his regiment Maximilian Morre_as noted for his rigid observance, not only of the obligations imposed on _oldier, but also of the duties of a man; and he thus gained the name of "th_toic." We need hardly say that many of those who gave him this epithe_epeated it because they had heard it, and did not even know what it meant.
  • This was the young man whom his mother and sister called to their aid t_ustain them under the serious trial which they felt they would soon have t_ndure. They had not mistaken the gravity of this event, for the moment afte_orrel had entered his private office with Cocles, Julie saw the latter leav_t pale, trembling, and his features betraying the utmost consternation. Sh_ould have questioned him as he passed by her, but the worthy creatur_astened down the staircase with unusual precipitation, and only raised hi_ands to heaven and exclaimed, "Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, what _readful misfortune! Who could ever have believed it!" A moment afterward_ulie saw him go up-stairs carrying two or three heavy ledgers, a portfolio, and a bag of money.
  • Morrel examined the ledgers, opened the portfolio, and counted the money. Al_is funds amounted to 6,000, or 8,000 francs, his bills receivable up to th_th to 4,000 or 5,000, which, making the best of everything, gave him 14,00_rancs to meet debts amounting to 287,500 francs. He had not even the mean_or making a possible settlement on account. However, when Morrel went down t_is dinner, he appeared very calm. This calmness was more alarming to the tw_omen than the deepest dejection would have been. After dinner Morrel usuall_ent out and used to take his coffee at the Phocaean club, and read th_emaphore; this day he did not leave the house, but returned to his office.
  • As to Cocles, he seemed completely bewildered. For part of the day he wen_nto the court-yard, seated himself on a stone with his head bare and expose_o the blazing sun. Emmanuel tried to comfort the women, but his eloquenc_altered. The young man was too well acquainted with the business of th_ouse, not to feel that a great catastrophe hung over the Morrel family. Nigh_ame, the two women had watched, hoping that when he left his room Morre_ould come to them, but they heard him pass before their door, and trying t_onceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened; he went into his sleeping- room, and fastened the door inside. Madame Morrel sent her daughter to bed, and half an hour after Julie had retired, she rose, took off her shoes, an_ent stealthily along the passage, to see through the keyhole what her husban_as doing. In the passage she saw a retreating shadow; it was Julie, who, uneasy herself, had anticipated her mother. The young lady went towards Madam_orrel.
  • "He is writing," she said. They had understood each other without speaking.
  • Madame Morrel looked again through the keyhole, Morrel was writing; but Madam_orrel remarked, what her daughter had not observed, that her husband wa_riting on stamped paper. The terrible idea that he was writing his wil_lashed across her; she shuddered, and yet had not strength to utter a word.
  • Next day M. Morrel seemed as calm as ever, went into his office as usual, cam_o his breakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, he placed his daughte_eside him, took her head in his arms, and held her for a long time agains_is bosom. In the evening, Julie told her mother, that although he wa_pparently so calm, she had noticed that her father's heart beat violently.
  • The next two days passed in much the same way. On the evening of the 4th o_eptember, M. Morrel asked his daughter for the key of his study. Juli_rembled at this request, which seemed to her of bad omen. Why did her fathe_sk for this key which she always kept, and which was only taken from her i_hildhood as a punishment? The young girl looked at Morrel.
  • "What have I done wrong, father," she said, "that you should take this ke_rom me?"
  • "Nothing, my dear," replied the unhappy man, the tears starting to his eyes a_his simple question, — "nothing, only I want it." Julie made a pretence t_eel for the key. "I must have left it in my room," she said. And she wen_ut, but instead of going to her apartment she hastened to consult Emmanuel.
  • "Do not give this key to your father," said he, "and to-morrow morning, i_ossible, do not quit him for a moment." She questioned Emmanuel, but he kne_othing, or would not say what he knew. During the night, between the 4th an_th of September, Madame Morrel remained listening for every sound, and, unti_hree o'clock in the morning, she heard her husband pacing the room in grea_gitation. It was three o'clock when he threw himself on the bed. The mothe_nd daughter passed the night together. They had expected Maximilian since th_revious evening. At eight o'clock in the morning Morrel entered thei_hamber. He was calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in his pal_nd careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he had slept. Morrel wa_inder to his wife, more affectionate to his daughter, than he had ever been.
  • He could not cease gazing at and kissing the sweet girl. Julie, mindful o_mmanuel's request, was following her father when he quitted the room, but h_aid to her quickly, — "Remain with your mother, dearest." Julie wished t_ccompany him. "I wish you to do so," said he.
  • This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he said it in a tone o_aternal kindness, and Julie did not dare to disobey. She remained at the sam_pot standing mute and motionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, sh_elt two arms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her forehead. She looked u_nd uttered an exclamation of joy.
  • "Maximilian, my dearest brother!" she cried. At these words Madame Morre_ose, and threw herself into her son's arms. "Mother," said the young man, looking alternately at Madame Morrel and her daughter, "what has occurred — what has happened? Your letter has frightened me, and I have come hither wit_ll speed."
  • "Julie," said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man, "go and tell you_ather that Maximilian has just arrived." The young lady rushed out of th_partment, but on the first step of the staircase she found a man holding _etter in his hand.
  • "Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?" inquired the man, with a stron_talian accent.
  • "Yes, sir," replied Julie with hesitation; "what is your pleasure? I do no_now you."
  • "Read this letter," he said, handing it to her. Julie hesitated. "It concern_he best interests of your father," said the messenger.
  • The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened it quickly an_ead: —
  • "Go this moment to the Allees de Meillan, enter the house No. 15, ask th_orter for the key of the room on the fifth floor, enter the apartment, tak_rom the corner of the mantelpiece a purse netted in red silk, and give it t_our father. It is important that he should receive it before eleven o'clock.
  • You promised to obey me implicitly. Remember your oath.
  • "Sinbad the Sailor."
  • The young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked round to questio_he messenger, but he had disappeared. She cast her eyes again over the not_o peruse it a second time, and saw there was a postscript. She read: —
  • "It is important that you should fulfil this mission in person and alone. I_ou go accompanied by any other person, or should any one else go in you_lace, the porter will reply that he does not know anything about it."
  • This postscript decreased greatly the young girl's happiness. Was ther_othing to fear? was there not some snare laid for her? Her innocence had kep_er in ignorance of the dangers that might assail a young girl of her age. Bu_here is no need to know danger in order to fear it; indeed, it may b_bserved, that it is usually unknown perils that inspire the greatest terror.
  • Julie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through a singula_mpulse, it was neither to her mother nor her brother that she applied, but t_mmanuel. She hastened down and told him what had occurred on the day when th_gent of Thomson & French had come to her father's, related the scene on th_taircase, repeated the promise she had made, and showed him the letter. "Yo_ust go, then, mademoiselle," said Emmanuel.
  • "Go there?" murmured Julie.
  • "Yes; I will accompany you."
  • "But did you not read that I must be alone?" said Julie.
  • "And you shall be alone," replied the young man. "I will await you at th_orner of the Rue de Musee, and if you are so long absent as to make m_neasy, I will hasten to rejoin you, and woe to him of whom you shall hav_ause to complain to me!"
  • "Then, Emmanuel?" said the young girl with hesitation, "it is your opinio_hat I should obey this invitation?"
  • "Yes. Did not the messenger say your father's safety depended upon it?"
  • "But what danger threatens him, then, Emmanuel?" she asked.
  • Emmanuel hesitated a moment, but his desire to make Julie decide immediatel_ade him reply.
  • "Listen," he said; "to-day is the 5th of September, is it not?"
  • "Yes."
  • "To-day, then, at eleven o'clock, your father has nearly three hundre_housand francs to pay?"
  • "Yes, we know that."
  • "Well, then," continued Emmanuel, "we have not fifteen thousand francs in th_ouse."
  • "What will happen then?"
  • "Why, if to-day before eleven o'clock your father has not found someone wh_ill come to his aid, he will be compelled at twelve o'clock to declar_imself a bankrupt."
  • "Oh, come, then, come!" cried she, hastening away with the young man. Durin_his time, Madame Morrel had told her son everything. The young man knew quit_ell that, after the succession of misfortunes which had befallen his father, great changes had taken place in the style of living and housekeeping; but h_id not know that matters had reached such a point. He was thunderstruck.
  • Then, rushing hastily out of the apartment, he ran up-stairs, expecting t_ind his father in his study, but he rapped there in vain.
  • While he was yet at the door of the study he heard the bedroom door open, turned, and saw his father. Instead of going direct to his study, M. Morre_ad returned to his bed-chamber, which he was only this moment quitting.
  • Morrel uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of his son, of whose arrival h_as ignorant. He remained motionless on the spot, pressing with his left han_omething he had concealed under his coat. Maximilian sprang down th_taircase, and threw his arms round his father's neck; but suddenly h_ecoiled, and placed his right hand on Morrel's breast. "Father," h_xclaimed, turning pale as death, "what are you going to do with that brace o_istols under your coat?"
  • "Oh, this is what I feared!" said Morrel.
  • "Father, father, in heaven's name," exclaimed the young man, "what are thes_eapons for?"
  • "Maximilian," replied Morrel, looking fixedly at his son, "you are a man, an_ man of honor. Come, and I will explain to you."
  • And with a firm step Morrel went up to his study, while Maximilian followe_im, trembling as he went. Morrel opened the door, and closed it behind hi_on; then, crossing the anteroom, went to his desk on which he placed th_istols, and pointed with his finger to an open ledger. In this ledger wa_ade out an exact balance-sheet of his affair's. Morrel had to pay, withi_alf an hour, 287,500 francs. All he possessed was 15,257 francs. "Read!" sai_orrel.
  • The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a word. What coul_e say? What need he add to such a desperate proof in figures? "And have yo_one all that is possible, father, to meet this disastrous result?" asked th_oung man, after a moment's pause. "I have," replied Morrel.
  • "You have no money coming in on which you can rely?"
  • "None."
  • "You have exhausted every resource?"
  • "All."
  • "And in half an hour," said Maximilian in a gloomy voice, "our name i_ishonored!"
  • "Blood washes out dishonor," said Morrel.
  • "You are right, father; I understand you." Then extending his hand towards on_f the pistols, he said, "There is one for you and one for me — thanks!"
  • Morrel caught his hand. "Your mother — your sister! Who will support them?" _hudder ran through the young man's frame. "Father," he said, "do you reflec_hat you are bidding me to live?"
  • "Yes, I do so bid you," answered Morrel, "it is your duty. You have a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you are no ordinary man. I make n_equests or commands; I only ask you to examine my position as if it were you_wn, and then judge for yourself."
  • The young man reflected for a moment, then an expression of sublim_esignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slow and sad gesture he took of_is two epaulets, the insignia of his rank. "Be it so, then, my father," h_aid, extending his hand to Morrel, "die in peace, my father; I will live."
  • Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before his son, but Maximilia_aught him in his arms, and those two noble hearts were pressed against eac_ther for a moment. "You know it is not my fault," said Morrel. Maximilia_miled. "I know, father, you are the most honorable man I have ever known."
  • "Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and rejoin your mothe_nd sister."
  • "My father," said the young man, bending his knee, "bless me!" Morrel took th_ead of his son between his two hands, drew him forward, and kissing hi_orehead several times said, "Oh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and i_he name of three generations of irreproachable men, who say through me, `Th_difice which misfortune has destroyed, providence may build up again.' O_eeing me die such a death, the most inexorable will have pity on you. To you, perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused to me. Then do your bes_o keep our name free from dishonor. Go to work, labor, young man, struggl_rdently and courageously; live, yourself, your mother and sister, with th_ost rigid economy, so that from day to day the property of those whom I leav_n your hands may augment and fructify. Reflect how glorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn, that day of complete restoration, on which you will sa_n this very office, `My father died because he could not do what I have thi_ay done; but he died calmly and peaceably, because in dying he knew what _hould do.'"
  • "My father, my father!" cried the young man, "why should you not live?"
  • "If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest would be converted int_oubt, pity into hostility; if I live I am only a man who his broken his word, failed in his engagements — in fact, only a bankrupt. If, on the contrary, _ie, remember, Maximilian, my corpse is that of an honest but unfortunate man.
  • Living, my best friends would avoid my house; dead, all Marseilles will follo_e in tears to my last home. Living, you would feel shame at my name; dead, you may raise your head and say, `I am the son of him you killed, because, fo_he first time, he has been compelled to break his word.'"
  • The young man uttered a groan, but appeared resigned.
  • "And now," said Morrel, "leave me alone, and endeavor to keep your mother an_ister away."
  • "Will you not see my sister once more?" asked Maximilian. A last but fina_ope was concealed by the young man in the effect of this interview, an_herefore he had suggested it. Morrel shook his head. "I saw her this morning, and bade her adieu."
  • "Have you no particular commands to leave with me, my father?" inquire_aximilian in a faltering voice.
  • "Yes; my son, and a sacred command."
  • "Say it, my father."
  • "The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, from humanity, or, it ma_e, selfishness — it is not for me to read men's hearts — has had any pity fo_e. Its agent, who will in ten minutes present himself to receive the amoun_f a bill of 287,500 francs, I will not say granted, but offered me thre_onths. Let this house be the first repaid, my son, and respect this man."
  • "Father, I will," said Maximilian.
  • "And now, once more, adieu," said Morrel. "Go, leave me; I would be alone. Yo_ill find my will in the secretary in my bedroom."
  • The young man remained standing and motionless, having but the force of wil_nd not the power of execution.
  • "Hear me, Maximilian," said his father. "Suppose I was a soldier like you, an_rdered to carry a certain redoubt, and you knew I must be killed in th_ssault, would you not say to me, as you said just now, `Go, father; for yo_re dishonored by delay, and death is preferable to shame!'"
  • "Yes, yes," said the young man, "yes;" and once again embracing his fathe_ith convulsive pressure, he said, "Be it so, my father."
  • And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him, Morrel remained a_nstant standing with his eyes fixed on the door; then putting forth his arm, he pulled the bell. After a moment's interval, Cocles appeared.
  • It was no longer the same man — the fearful revelations of the three last day_ad crushed him. This thought — the house of Morrel is about to stop payment — bent him to the earth more than twenty years would otherwise have done.
  • "My worthy Cocles," said Morrel in a tone impossible to describe, "do yo_emain in the ante-chamber. When the gentleman who came three months ago — th_gent of Thomson & French — arrives, announce his arrival to me." Cocles mad_o reply; he made a sign with his head, went into the anteroom, and seate_imself. Morrel fell back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the clock; ther_ere seven minutes left, that was all. The hand moved on with incredibl_apidity, he seemed to see its motion.
  • What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of his agony canno_e told in words. He was still comparatively young, he was surrounded by th_oving care of a devoted family, but he had convinced himself by a course o_easoning, illogical perhaps, yet certainly plausible, that he must separat_imself from all he held dear in the world, even life itself. To form th_lightest idea of his feelings, one must have seen his face with it_xpression of enforced resignation and its tear-moistened eyes raised t_eaven. The minute hand moved on. The pistols were loaded; he stretched fort_is hand, took one up, and murmured his daughter's name. Then he laid it dow_eized his pen, and wrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not take_ sufficient farewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turned again to th_lock, counting time now not by minutes, but by seconds. He took up the deadl_eapon again, his lips parted and his eyes fixed on the clock, and the_huddered at the click of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this momen_f mortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his brow, a pang stronge_han death clutched at his heart-strings. He heard the door of the staircas_reak on its hinges — the clock gave its warning to strike eleven — the doo_f his study opened; Morrel did not turn round — he expected these words o_ocles, "The agent of Thomson & French."
  • He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth. Suddenly he heard a cry — it was his daughter's voice. He turned and saw Julie. The pistol fell fro_is hands. "My father!" cried the young girl, out of breath, and half dea_ith joy — "saved, you are saved!" And she threw herself into his arms, holding in her extended hand a red, netted silk purse.
  • "Saved, my child!" said Morrel; "what do you mean?"
  • "Yes, saved — saved! See, see!" said the young girl.
  • Morrel took the purse, and started as he did so, for a vague remembranc_eminded him that it once belonged to himself. At one end was the receipte_ill for the 287,000 francs, and at the other was a diamond as large as _azel-nut, with these words on a small slip of parchment: — Julie's Dowry.
  • Morrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him a dream. At this momen_he clock struck eleven. He felt as if each stroke of the hammer fell upon hi_eart. "Explain, my child," he said, "Explain, my child," he said, "explain — where did you find this purse?"
  • "In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the corner of a mantelpiec_n a small room on the fifth floor."
  • "But," cried Morrel, "this purse is not yours!" Julie handed to her father th_etter she had received in the morning.
  • "And did you go alone?" asked Morrel, after he had read it.
  • "Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for me at the corne_f the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say, he was not there when I returned."
  • "Monsieur Morrel!" exclaimed a voice on the stairs. — "Monsieur Morrel!"
  • "It is his voice!" said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel entered, hi_ountenance full of animation and joy. "The Pharaon!" he cried; "the Pharaon!"
  • "What — what — the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You know the vessel i_ost."
  • "The Pharaon, sir — they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is entering th_arbor!" Morrel fell back in his chair, his strength was failing him; hi_nderstanding weakened by such events, refused to comprehend such incredible, unheard-of, fabulous facts. But his son came in. "Father," cried Maximilian,
  • "how could you say the Pharaon was lost? The lookout has signalled her, an_hey say she is now coming into port."
  • "My dear friends," said Morrel, "if this be so, it must be a miracle o_eaven! Impossible, impossible!"
  • But what was real and not less incredible was the purse he held in his hand, the acceptance receipted — the splendid diamond.
  • "Ah, sir," exclaimed Cocles, "what can it mean? — the Pharaon?"
  • "Come, dear ones," said Morrel, rising from his seat, "let us go and see, an_eaven have pity upon us if it be false intelligence!" They all went out, an_n the stairs met Madame Morrel, who had been afraid to go up into the study.
  • In a moment they were at the Cannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. Al_he crowd gave way before Morrel. "The Pharaon, the Pharaon!" said ever_oice.
  • And, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean, was a ship bearin_n her stern these words, printed in white letters, "The Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles." She was the exact duplicate of the other Pharaon, an_oaded, as that had been, with cochineal and indigo. She cast anchor, clued u_ails, and on the deck was Captain Gaumard giving orders, and good old Penelo_aking signals to M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there was th_vidence of the senses, and ten thousand persons who came to corroborate th_estimony. As Morrel and his son embraced on the pier-head, in the presenc_nd amid the applause of the whole city witnessing this event, a man, with hi_ace half-covered by a black beard, and who, concealed behind the sentry-box, watched the scene with delight, uttered these words in a low tone: "Be happy, noble heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good deeds."
  • And with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left his hiding-place, an_ithout being observed, descended one of the flights of steps provided fo_ebarkation, and hailing three times, shouted "Jacopo, Jacopo, Jacopo!" Then _aunch came to shore, took him on board, and conveyed him to a yach_plendidly fitted up, on whose deck he sprung with the activity of a sailor; thence he once again looked towards Morrel, who, weeping with joy, was shakin_ands most cordially with all the crowd around him, and thanking with a loo_he unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking in the skies. "And now,"
  • said the unknown, "farewell kindness, humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to al_he feelings that expand the heart! I have been heaven's substitute t_ecompense the good — now the god of vengeance yields to me his power t_unish the wicked!" At these words he gave a signal, and, as if only awaitin_his signal, the yacht instantly put out to sea.