IN A VERY few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay. The house was of white stone, and in a small court before it were two small beds full of beautiful flowers. In the concièrge that opened the gate the count recognized Coclès; but as he had but one eye, and that eye had become somewhat dim in the course of nine years, Coclès did not recognize the count. The carriages that drove up to the door were compelled to turn, to avoid a fountain that played in a basin of rockwork,--an ornament that had excited the jealousy of the whole quarter, and had gained for the place the appellation of "The Little Versailles."

It is needless to add that there were gold and silver fish in the basin. The house, with kitchens and cellars below, had above the ground-floor, two stories and attics. The whole of the property, consisting of an immense workshop, two pavilions at the bottom of the garden, and the garden itself, had been purchased by Emmanuel, who had seen at a glance that he could make of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved the house and half the garden, and building a wall between the garden and the workshops, had let them upon lease with the pavilions at the bottom of the garden. So that for a trifling sum he was as well lodged, and as perfectly shut out from observation, as the inhabitants of the finest mansion in the Faubourg St. Germain. The breakfast-room was finished in oak; the salon in mahogany, and the furnishings were of blue velvet; the bedroom was in citronwood and green damask. There was a study for Emmanuel, who never studied, and a music-room for Julie, who never played. The whole of the second story was set apart for Maximilian; it was precisely similar to his sister's apartments, except that for the breakfast-parlor he had a billiard-room, where he received his friends. He was superintending the grooming of his horse, and smoking his cigar at the entrance of the garden, when the count's carriage stopped at the gate.

Coclès opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box, inquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and Monsieur Maximilian Morrel would see his excellency the Count of Monte Cristo. "The Count of Monte Cristo?" cried Morrel, throwing away his cigar and hastening to the carriage; "I should think we would see him. Ah, a thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten your promise." And the young officer shook the count's hand so warmly, that Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of his joy, and he saw that he had been expected with impatience, and was received with pleasure. "Come, come," said Maximilian, "I will serve as your guide; such a man as you are ought not to be introduced by a servant. My sister is in the garden plucking the dead roses; my brother is reading his two papers, the Presse and the Débats, within six steps of her; for wherever you see Madame Herbault, you have only to look within a circle of four yards and you will find M. Emmanuel, and 'reciprocally,' as they say at the Polytechnic School."

At the sound of their steps a young woman of twenty to five and twenty, dressed in a silk morning gown, and busily engaged in plucking the dead leaves off a noisette rose-tree, raised her head. This was Julie, who had become, as the clerk of the house of Thomson & French had predicted, Madame Emmanuel Herbault. She uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of a stranger, and Maximilian began to laugh. "Don't disturb yourself, Julie," said he. "The count has only been two or three days in Paris, but he already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais is, and if he does not, you will show him."

"Ah, monsieur," returned Julie, "it is treason in my brother to bring you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor sister. Penelon, Penelon!" An old man, who was digging busily at one of the beds, stuck his spade in the earth, and approached, cap in hand, striving to conceal a quid of tobacco he had just thrust into his cheek. A few locks of gray mingled with his hair, which was still thick and matted, while his bronzed features and determined glance well suited an old sailor who had braved the heat of the equator and the storms of the tropics. "I think you hailed me, Mademoiselle Julie?" said he. Penelon had still preserved the habit of calling his master's daughter "Mademoiselle Julie," and had never been able to change the name to Madame Herbault. "Penelon," replied Julie, "go and inform M. Emmanuel of this gentleman's visit, and Maximilian will conduct him to the salon." Then, turning to Monte Cristo,--"I hope you will permit me to leave you for a few minutes," continued she; and without awaiting any reply, disappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to the house by a lateral alley.

"I am sorry to see," observed Monte Cristo to Morrel, "that I cause no small disturbance in your house."

"Look there," said Maximilian, laughing; "there is her husband changing his jacket for a coat. I assure you, you are well known in the Rue Meslay."

"Your family appears to be a very happy one," said the count, as if speaking to himself.

"Oh, yes, I assure you, count, they want nothing that can render them happy; they are young and cheerful, they are tenderly attached to each other, and with twenty-five thousand francs a year they fancy themselves as rich as Rothschild."

"Five and twenty thousand francs is not a large sum, however," replied Monte Cristo, with a tone so sweet and gentle, that it went to Maximilian's heart like the voice of a father; "but they will not be content with that. Your brother-in-law is a barrister? a doctor?"

"He was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the business of my poor father. M. Morrel, at his death, left 500,000 francs, which were divided between my sister and myself, for we were his only children. Her husband, who, when he married her, had no other patrimony than his noble probity, his first-rate ability, and his spotless reputation, wished to possess as much as his wife. He labored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000 francs; six years sufficed to achieve this object. Oh, I assure you, sir, it was a touching spectacle to see these young creatures, destined by their talents for higher stations, toiling together, and through their unwillingness to change any of the customs of their paternal house, taking six years to accomplish what less scrupulous people would have effected in two or three. Marseilles resounded with their well-earned praises. At last, one day, Emmanuel came to his wife, who had just finished making up the accounts. 'Julie,' said he to her, 'Coclès has just given me the last rouleau of a hundred francs; that completes the 250,000 francs we had fixed as the limits of our gains. Can you content yourself with the small fortune which we shall possess for the future? Listen to me. Our house transacts business to the amount of a million a year, from which we derive an income of 40,000 francs. We can dispose of the business, if we please, in an hour, for I have received a letter from M. Delaunay, in which he offers to purchase the good-will of the house, to unite with his own, for 300,000 francs. Advise me what I had better do.'--'Emmanuel,' returned my sister, 'the house of Morrel can only be carried on by a Morrel. Is it not worth 300,000 francs to save our father's name from the chances of evil fortune and failure?'--'I thought so,' replied Emmanuel; 'but I wished to have your advice.'--'This is my counsel:--Our accounts are made up and our bills paid; all we have to do is to stop the issue of any more, and close our office.' This was done instantly. It was three o'clock; at a quarter past, a merchant presented himself to insure two ships; it was a clear profit of 15,000 francs. 'Monsieur,' said Emmanuel, 'have the goodness to address yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.'--'How long?' inquired the astonished merchant. 'A quarter of an hour,' was the reply. And this is the reason, monsieur," continued Maximilian, "of my sister and brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year."

Maximilian had scarcely finished his story, during which the count's heart had swelled within him, when Emmanuel entered wearing a hat and coat. He saluted the count with the air of a man who is aware of the rank of his guest; then, after having led Monte Cristo around the little garden, he returned to the house. A large vase of Japan porcelain, filled with flowers that loaded the air with their perfume, stood in the salon. Julie, suitably dressed, and her hair arranged (she had accomplished this feat in less than ten minutes), received the count on his entrance. The songs of the birds were heard in an aviary hard by, and the branches of laburnums and rose acacias formed an exquisite framework to the blue velvet curtains. Everything in this charming retreat, from the warble of the birds to the smile of the mistress, breathed tranquillity and repose. The count had felt the influence of this happiness from the moment he entered the house, and he remained silent and pensive, forgetting that he was expected to renew the conversation, which had ceased after the first salutations had been exchanged. The silence became almost painful when, by a violent effort, tearing himself from his pleasing reverie--"Madame," said he at length, "I pray you to excuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only accustomed to the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a sight to me, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your husband."

"We are very happy, monsieur," replied Julie; "but we have also known unhappiness, and few have ever undergone more bitter sufferings than ourselves." The Count's features displayed an expression of the most intense curiosity.

"Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you the other day," observed Maximilian. "This humble picture would have but little interest for you, accustomed as you are to behold the pleasures and the misfortunes of the wealthy and industrious; but such as we are, we have experienced bitter sorrows."

"And God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does into those of all who are in affliction?" said Monte Cristo inquiringly.

"Yes, count," returned Julie, "we may indeed say he has, for he has done for us what he grants only to his chosen; he sent us one of his angels." The count's cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed, in order to have an excuse for putting his handkerchief to his mouth. "Those born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying every wish," said Emmanuel, "know not what is the real happiness of life, just as those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of the ocean on a few frail planks can alone realize the blessings of fair weather."

Monte Cristo rose, and without making any answer (for the tremulousness of his voice would have betrayed his emotion) walked up and down the apartment with a slow step.

"Our magnificence makes you smile, count," said Maximilian, who had followed him with his eyes. "No, no," returned Monte Cristo, pale as death, pressing one hand on his heart to still its throbbings, while with the other he pointed to a crystal cover, beneath which a silken purse lay on a black velvet cushion. "I was wondering what could be the significance of this purse, with the paper at one end and the large diamond at the other."

"Count," replied Maximilian, with an air of gravity, "those are our most precious family treasures."

"The stone seems very brilliant," answered the count.

"Oh, my brother does not allude to its value, although it has been estimated at 100,000 francs; he means, that the articles contained in this purse are the relics of the angel I spoke of just now."

"This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an explanation, madame," replied Monte Cristo bowing. "Pardon me, I had no intention of committing an indiscretion."

"Indiscretion,--oh, you make us happy by giving us an excuse for expatiating on this subject. If we wanted to conceal the noble action this purse commemorates, we should not expose it thus to view. Oh, would we could relate it everywhere, and to every one, so that the emotion of our unknown benefactor might reveal his presence."

"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo in a half-stifled voice.

"Monsieur," returned Maximilian, raising the glass cover, and respectfully kissing the silken purse, "this has touched the hand of a man who saved my father from suicide, us from ruin, and our name from shame and disgrace,--a man by whose matchless benevolence we poor children, doomed to want and wretchedness, can at present hear every one envying our happy lot. This letter" (as he spoke, Maximilian drew a letter from the purse and gave it to the count)--"this letter was written by him the day that my father had taken a desperate resolution, and this diamond was given by the generous unknown to my sister as her dowry." Monte Cristo opened the letter, and read it with an indescribable feeling of delight. It was the letter written (as our readers know) to Julie, and signed "Sinbad the Sailor." "Unknown you say, is the man who rendered you this service--unknown to you?"

"Yes; we have never had the happiness of pressing his hand," continued Maximilian. "We have supplicated heaven in vain to grant us this favor, but the whole affair has had a mysterious meaning that we cannot comprehend--we have been guided by an invisible hand,--a hand as powerful as that of an enchanter."

"Oh," cried Julie, "I have not lost all hope of some day kissing that hand, as I now kiss the purse which he has touched. Four years ago, Penelon was at Trieste--Penelon, count, is the old sailor you saw in the garden, and who, from quartermaster, has become gardener--Penelon, when he was at Trieste, saw on the quay an Englishman, who was on the point of embarking on board a yacht, and he recognized him as the person who called on my father the fifth of June, 1829, and who wrote me this letter on the fifth of September. He felt convinced of his identity, but he did not venture to address him."

"An Englishman," said Monte Cristo, who grew uneasy at the attention with which Julie looked at him. "An Englishman you say?"

"Yes," replied Maximilian, "an Englishman, who represented himself as the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French, at Rome. It was this that made me start when you said the other day, at M. de Morcerf's, that Messrs. Thomson & French were your bankers. That happened, as I told you, in 1829. For God's sake, tell me, did you know this Englishman?"

"But you tell me, also, that the house of Thomson & French have constantly denied having rendered you this service?"

"Yes."

"Then is it not probable that this Englishman may be some one who, grateful for a kindness your father had shown him, and which he himself had forgotten, has taken this method of requiting the obligation?"

"Everything is possible in this affair, even a miracle."

"What was his name?" asked Monte Cristo.

"He gave no other name," answered Julie, looking earnestly at the count, "than that at the end of his letter--'Sinbad the Sailor.'"

"Which is evidently not his real name, but a fictitious one."

Then, noticing that Julie was struck with the sound of his voice,-- "Tell me," continued he, "was he not about my height, perhaps a little taller, with his chin imprisoned, as it were, in a high cravat; his coat closely buttoned up, and constantly taking out his pencil?"

"Oh, do you then know him?" cried Julie, whose eyes sparkled with joy.

"No," returned Monte Cristo "I only guessed. I knew a Lord Wilmore, who was constantly doing actions of this kind."

"Without revealing himself?"

"He was an eccentric being, and did not believe in the existence of gratitude."

"Oh, heaven," exclaimed Julie, clasping her hands, "in what did he believe, then?"

"He did not credit it at the period which I knew him," said Monte Cristo, touched to the heart by the accents of Julie's voice; "but, perhaps, since then he has had proofs that gratitude does exist."

"And do you know this gentleman, monsieur?" inquired Emmanuel.

"Oh, if you do know him," cried Julie, "can you tell us where he is--where we can find him? Maximilian--Emmanuel--if we do but discover him, he must believe in the gratitude of the heart!" Monte Cristo felt tears start into his eyes, and he again walked hastily up and down the room.

"In the name of heaven," said Maximilian, "if you know anything of him, tell us what it is."

"Alas," cried Monte Cristo, striving to repress his emotion, "if Lord Wilmore was your unknown benefactor, I fear you will never see him again. I parted from him two years ago at Palermo, and he was then on the point of setting out for the most remote regions; so that I fear he will never return."

"Oh, monsieur, this is cruel of you," said Julie, much affected; and the young lady's eyes swam with tears.

"Madame," replied Monte Cristo gravely, and gazing earnestly on the two liquid pearls that trickled down Julie's cheeks, "had Lord Wilmore seen what I now see, he would become attached to life, for the tears you shed would reconcile him to mankind;" and he held out his hand to Julie, who gave him hers, carried away by the look and accent of the count. "But," continued she, "Lord Wilmore had a family or friends, he must have known some one, can we not--"

"Oh, it is useless to inquire," returned the count; "perhaps, after all, he was not the man you seek for. He was my friend: he had no secrets from me, and if this had been so he would have confided in me."

"And he told you nothing?"

"Not a word."

"Nothing that would lead you to suppose?"

"Nothing."

"And yet you spoke of him at once."

"Ah, in such a case one supposes"--

"Sister, sister," said Maximilian, coming to the count's aid, "monsieur is quite right. Recollect what our excellent father so often told us, 'It was no Englishman that thus saved us.'" Monte Cristo started. "What did your father tell you, M. Morrel?" said he eagerly.

"My father thought that this action had been miraculously performed--he believed that a benefactor had arisen from the grave to save us. Oh, it was a touching superstition, monsieur, and although I did not myself believe it, I would not for the world have destroyed my father's faith. How often did he muse over it and pronounce the name of a dear friend--a friend lost to him forever; and on his death-bed, when the near approach of eternity seemed to have illumined his mind with supernatural light, this thought, which had until then been but a doubt, became a conviction, and his last words were, 'Maximilian, it was Edmond Dantès!'" At these words the count's paleness, which had for some time been increasing, became alarming; he could not speak; he looked at his watch like a man who has forgotten the hour, said a few hurried words to Madame Herbault, and pressing the hands of Emmanuel and Maximilian,--"Madame," said he, "I trust you will allow me to visit you occasionally; I value your friendship, and feel grateful to you for your welcome, for this is the first time for many years that I have thus yielded to my feelings;" and he hastily quitted the apartment.

"This Count of Monte Cristo is a strange man," said Emmanuel.

"Yes," answered Maximilian, "but I feel sure he has an excellent heart, and that he likes us."

"His voice went to my heart," observed Julie; "and two or three times I fancied that I had heard it before."

几分钟之后，伯爵便到了密斯雷路七号。这是座白石砌成的房子，在房子前面的一个小庭院里，有两个小花坛，里面开满了美丽的花。伯爵认出了来开门的门房是柯克莱斯，但由于他只有一只眼睛，而且那只眼睛在九年的时间里已衰弱了许多，所以他没有认出伯爵来。马车驶到门口去的时候，必须经过一个转弯，绕过一座石块砌成的喷水池，池子里悠闲地游着许多金色和银色的鱼。这一点缀引起了全区人的嫉妒，给这座房子挣得了“小凡尔赛宫”的称号。这房子是一座三层楼的建筑物，下面有厨房和地窖，上面有阁楼。全部房产包括一个极大的工场，一个花园和花园中的两幢楼房，艾曼纽买下它来的时候一眼就看出这是一笔很有利的投机生意。他留用了正房和花园的一半，在花园和工场之间筑起了一道墙，连花园底上的两座楼房一起租了出去，所以他只花了很少的一笔钱，却住得舒舒服服，象圣·日尔曼村里一位最讲究的主人一样得到了一座独门独户的大住宅。餐厅里全是一色的橡木家具，客厅里是桃花心木家具和蓝天鹅绒窗帷，卧室里是香椽木和绿缎子。艾曼纽有一间书房，但他从不读书，尤莉有一间音乐室，但她从不摆弄乐器。三楼全部归马西米兰使用，这一层楼上的房间完全和他妹妹的一样，只是餐厅变成了一间弹子房，这也是他接待朋友的地方。当伯爵的马车在门口停下来的时候，他正嘴里咬着雪茄，在花园的入口处监督洗刷他的马。

柯克莱斯打开门，巴浦斯汀从车夫的座位上跳下来，上前询问赫伯特先生夫妇和马西米兰·莫雷尔先生愿不愿意接见基督山伯爵阁下。

“基督山伯爵阁下？”莫雷尔大喊了一声，抛掉了他的雪茄烟，急忙向马车奔过来。“我们当然愿意见他的啦！啊！伯爵阁下，多谢您没有忘记您的诺言。”于是那青年军官非常热情地同伯爵握手，使后者毫不怀疑他是出于一种真挚的表示，他看到对方早已在期待他，而且很高兴接待他。

“来，来！”马西米兰说道，“我来当您的向导，象您这样的人是不应该由仆人来介绍的。我妹妹在花园里摘玫瑰树上的枯叶，我妹夫正读他的两份报纸，《新闻报》和《议论报》，离她五步之内，因为不论您在哪儿看到赫伯特夫人，只要在几步远的小圈里望一眼，便可以找到艾曼纽先生，而且这种情形正如科学大全上所说的那样，是‘相互的’。”听到他们的脚步声，一个身穿丝绸便服，正忙碌地在那棵绚丽的玫瑰树上摘枯叶的年轻女子抬起头来。这个女子正是尤莉，她，正如汤姆生·弗伦奇银行的那位首席代表所预言的，已变成了艾曼纽·赫伯特夫人。她看到来了一位陌生人，就发出了一声惊异的喊叫，而马西米兰却大笑起来。“这没什么，裘丽，”他说道，“伯爵阁下虽然到巴黎才只有两三天，但他已经知道一个时髦女郎是什么样子的了，要是他还不知道，那么你就是一个榜样。”

“啊，阁下！”尤莉回答说，“我的哥哥把您就这样带进来真是太胡闹了，他是从来不为他可怜的妹妹考虑的。庇尼龙！庇尼龙！”

一个正在玫瑰花丛中忙于翻地的老头把他的铲子往泥土里一插，拿起帽子走了过来，一边走，一边极力想掩饰刚才扔进嘴里的那块烟草。他的头发依然是那么厚密，那么蓬蓬松松地缠结在一起。只是其中有几丛已变成了灰色，他那被太阳晒成紫铜色的脸和那坚毅的目光证明这老水手曾经历过赤道的酷热和回归线上的风暴。“我好象听到你在叫我，尤莉小姐？”

他说道，庇尼龙依旧改不掉他的老习惯，对其船主的女儿称“尤莉小姐”，再也改不过口来叫赫伯特夫人。

“庇尼龙，”尤莉说道“快去通知艾曼纽先生，说这位先生来拜访我们了，马西米兰自会领他到客厅里去的。”然后，她转过身来对基督山说道，“希重您能允许我告辞一会儿。”于是也不等回答，就绕到一丛树后面，从一条侧径走进了屋里。“真是非常抱歉，”基督山对莫雷尔说道，“我看我的到来给府上引起了不小的麻烦呀。”

“瞧吧，”马西米兰大笑着说道，“她的丈夫正在那儿脱下短褂换上装呢。我向您担保，您已经在密斯雷路鼎鼎大名的了。”

“我看府上倒是一个非常幸福的家庭！”伯爵说道，这句话很象是对他自己说的。“噢，是的，我可以向您保证，他们的确是幸福得没法说了。他们都很年轻，很乐观，你恋着我，我恋着你，每年还有两万五千里弗的收入，因此就自以为象罗斯希尔德一样的富有了。”

“两万五千里弗这个数目可并不算大，”基督山说道，语气非常甜蜜温和，象是一位慈父的声音直钻进马西米兰的心坎里，“但他们是不会以此自满的。您的妹夫是一个律师还是一个医生？”

“他是一个商人，伯爵阁下，他继承了我那可怜的父亲的事业，莫雷尔先生去世的时候遗留下五千万法郎，这笔钱分给了我妹妹和我，因为他只有我们这两个儿女。她的丈夫和她结婚的时候，除了他那正直高尚的品格，那一流的才干，和那清白无瑕的名誉之外，他可不象他的太太那样有什么世袭的财产可指望。但他希望自己能有他妻子那样多的财产，于是他克勤克俭地埋头苦干，直到积满了二十五万法郎，那是用了六年功夫才实现的。噢，伯爵阁下，说真心话，看着这些才能高超肯定会飞黄腾达的青年人辛辛苦苦地在一起工作，不愿意丝毫改变祖传老店的旧规矩，为了六年的时间才取得那些新潮人物在两三年内就可以取得的业绩，这种情形真使人感动。马赛直到现在还洋溢着对他们的赞许之声，而这种赞许也是他们应该得到的。后来，有一天，尤莉刚结完账，艾曼纽过来对她说，’尤莉，柯克莱斯刚才把最后那一百法郎交给了我，我们预定要赚的二十五万法郎已齐了。我们将来就守着这笔小小的财产生活你满意吗？听我说，我们的公司每年要做一百万的生意，我们可以从中获得四万法郎的收益。假如我们愿意的话，我们在一小时之内就可以把生意转让出去，因为我收到了狄劳耐先生的一封信，他说他愿意出三十万法郎买下这家公司的商业信誉，从而把他的名字和我们的联在一起。你说我该怎么办才好。’‘艾曼纽，’我妹妹回答说，‘莫雷尔公司只能由莫雷尔家里的人来经管。用三十万法郎来补救我父亲的名誉不是很值得的吗？’‘我也是这样想，’艾曼纽答道，‘但我希望听听你的忠告。’‘我的意见是这样的：我们的业务往来账目都已经结清了，我们现在只要停止放账，结束业务就行了。’这事立刻就办到了。一刻钟以后，一位商人来要求为两条船投保险。

这笔生意很明显可以有一万五千法郎的赚头。‘先生，’艾曼纽说道，‘请你费神直接去和狄劳耐先生谈吧。我们已经停业了。’是多久的事？‘那商人惊奇地问道。回答是，‘一刻钟以前。’而就是为了这个理由，阁下，”马西米兰继续说道，“我的妹妹和妹夫才每年只有两万五千里弗的收入。”

马西米兰讲这个故事的时候，伯爵的心似乎要爆裂开来，他刚一讲完，艾曼纽就进来了，这时他已戴上了一顶帽子，穿好了上装。他向伯爵恭敬地致敬，表示他很清楚来客的身份，然后他领基督山在小花园里兜了一圈，才回到屋里。客厅里放着一只日本出品的大瓷花瓶，瓶里插满了花，使空气里充满了花香。尤莉已站在门口迎接伯爵了，她的衣服穿得很合体，头发梳得很俏丽（这件大事她是在十分钟之内完成的）。附近的一间鸟舍里传来了鸟的歌声。鸟舍是由假乌木和刺槐树的丫枝搭成的，外面围着蓝天鹅绒的帷幕。在这所可爱的幽居里，万事万物，从鸟儿们宛转的歌声到女主人的微笑，都使人有一种宁静安谧的感觉。伯爵一进这座房子就感染到了这种幸福的气氛。他开始客套地说了几句以后，就一直默默地现出若有所思的样子，竟一时忘记了人家正在等他开始谈话。当他一觉察到这种停顿之后，就竭力把自己从这种沉思状态中摆脱出来。“夫人，”他终于说道，“请原谅我这么激动，你们一定会觉得很奇怪，因为你们已享受惯了我在这儿所遇到的这种幸福，但对我来说，你们这种幸福的神情是如此的罕见，以至于使我无法把目光从你们身上移开了。”

“我们实在是非常幸福的，阁下，”尤莉答道，“但我们也遭遇过不幸，世界上很少有人比我们受过更大的痛苦。”

伯爵的脸上现出了一种好奇的表情。

“噢，正如那天夏多·勒诺所告诉您的，这一切只是一部家庭历史，”马西米兰说道，“象您这样名利双收，饱经沧桑的人，对于这种琐碎的事情是不会有多大兴趣的，但我们的确有过极悲惨的遭遇。”

“象上帝对待所有那些受苦的人们一样，他曾把香油注入了你们的伤口吗？”基督山问道。

“是的，伯爵阁下，”尤莉答道，“我们实在可以说是这样的，因为他对待我们就象对待他的选民一样，他派了一位天使来关照我们。”

伯爵的两颊变成了深红色，他咳嗽了一声，并用手帕掩住了嘴。

“那些天生有钱，事事都能如愿的人，”艾曼纽说道，“是不知道人生真正的幸福是什么的，正如只有那些曾抱住几块脆弱的木板，在狂风暴雨的海洋里颠簸过来的人，才能体会到一个晴朗的天空是多么的可贵一样。”

基督山没有回答，只是站起身来在房间里慢慢地踱来踱去，因为他怕自己那颤抖的声音会泄露他的情绪。

“我们的夸大使您见笑啦，伯爵阁下。”马西米兰说道，他的目光始终在跟随着伯爵。

“不，不，”基督山回答说，他的脸色很苍白，一只手按在他狂跳不已的心口上，另一只手则指着一只玻璃罩，玻璃罩下面有一只丝质的钱袋躺在一块黑天鹅绒的垫子上。“我正在想，这只钱袋是做什么用的，它的一端象是绑着一张小纸片，而另一端却有一颗大钻石。”

“伯爵阁下，”马西米兰带着一种庄严的神气说道，“这是我们最宝贵的传家之宝。”

“这颗钻石倒非常漂亮。”伯爵答道。

“噢，曾有人估价它值十万法郎，我哥哥并不是指它的价值，他的意思是说这只钱袋所包含的东西都是我刚才所说的那位天使的纪念品。”

“这我可就不懂了，但我并不一定要求解释，夫人，”基督山鞠躬答道。“原谅我，我并不是存心要做出失礼的举动的。”

“失礼！噢，我们很高兴您能给我们这样一个机会来详述这件事情。要是我们想隐讳这只钱袋所代表的那件义举，我们就不会把它这样谈出来啦。噢，我们很愿意到处逢人就讲！这样或许可以感动我们那位无名的恩人，使他早日日露面出来见见我们。”

“啊，真的！”基督山用一种压低了的声音说道。

“阁下，”马西米兰揭开玻璃罩，恭恭敬敬地吻了吻那只丝质钱袋，说道。“这只钱袋曾经过一个人的手，而那个人曾救过我父亲，使他不致于自杀，使我们不致于破产，使我们的名誉不致于蒙羞受辱。正是靠着他无比的仁慈，我们这些命中注定该受苦难的孩子，才能有目前这种使人嫉妒的好运。这封信，”（马西米兰一边说着，一面从钱袋里抽出一封信来交给了伯爵）“这封信就是他在我父亲决心自杀的那天写来的。这颗钻石是那位慷慨的无名恩人送给我妹妹作陪嫁的。”基督山打开那封信，以一种无法形容的高兴的心情把它读了一遍。这封信是写给（我们的读者知道）尤莉的，署名是“水手辛巴德。”

“您说是一个无名恩人，难道你们并不认识那个帮你们忙的人吗？”

“是呀，我们从没有和他握一下手的运气，”马西米兰又说道。“我们曾恳求上帝赐给我们这个机会，直到如今还是枉然，这件事的来龙去脉很神秘，我们始终无法弄明白，象是冥冥之中有一只魔术师般有力的手在操纵着似的。”

“噢，”尤莉大声说道，“我倒是还没有完全绝望，也许总有那么一天我会吻到那只手的，就象我现在吻这只他所触过的钱袋一样。四年以前，庇尼龙在的里雅斯特，庇尼龙，伯爵阁下，就是你刚才在花园里见到的那个老水手，他在当园丁以前，本来是一个舵手的。当庇尼龙还在的里雅斯特的时候，他在码头上看到一个英国人正要上一艘游船，而他认出他就在一八二九年六月五日来拜访过我父亲，九月五日又写这封信给我的那个人，他相信自己没认错，但他当时不敢上去跟他讲话。”

“一个英国人！”基督山说道。他看到尤莉很注意地望着他，就愈来愈感到不安了。“您说是一个英国人吗？”

“是的，”马西米兰答道，“是一个英国人，他自称是罗马汤姆生·弗伦奇银行的首席代表。所以那天您在马尔塞夫先生家里说您和汤姆生·弗伦奇银行有业务往来，我就吃了一惊。我已经告诉过您，那是一八二九年的事。看在上帝的面上，请告诉我，您认识这个英国人吗？”

“可您不是也告诉过我，说汤姆生·弗伦奇银行老是否认曾帮过你们这个忙吗？”

“是的。”

“那么，说不定这个英国人曾受过令尊的恩惠，他没有忘记，所以采取这种方法来报恩，这不是很可能的吗？”

“象这类事情，一切都可能的，甚至是一个奇迹也说不定。”

“他叫什么名字？”基督山问道。

“他并没说出第二个名字，”尤莉热切地望着伯爵答道，“就只是这封信尾上的——‘水手辛巴德’。”

“这显然不是他的真名，而是个假名。”

然后，他注意到尤莉对他的口音已显得出惊愕的表情，便又说道：“请告诉我，他的身材是不是和我差不多，或许略微高和瘦一点，脖子上绑一个大领结，密扣紧带，手里老是拿着一支铅笔？”

“噢，那么说您认识他的了？”尤莉大声说道，她的眼睛里顿时放射出喜悦的光采。

“不，”基督山答道，“我只是这样猜测。因为我认识一位威玛勋爵，他是常常干这种慷慨的事情的。”

“那他自己不露面吗？”

“他是一个怪人，不相信世上有‘感恩’这种东西的存在。”

“噢，天哪！”尤莉紧握着双手大声说道。“那么他相信什么呢？”

“我认识他的那个时候他还不相信，”基督山说道，他听了尤莉的语气，心里很受感动。“但也许他后来得到了证据，知道‘感恩’的确是存在的了。”

“你认识这位先生吗，阁下？”艾曼纽问道。

“噢，要是您真的认识他，”尤莉大声说道，“您能不能告诉我们他在什么地方？我们可以到哪儿去找到他？马西米兰，艾曼纽！假如我们真的能找到他，他一定会相信人心是知道感恩的！”

基督山觉得泪水已涌到了他的眼睛里，于是他又急急地在房间里踱来踱去。

“看在老天爷的份上！”马西米兰说道，“假如您知道他的什么事情，请告诉我们吧。”

“唉！”基督山极力克制住他的情感说道，“假如你们的那位无名恩人就是威玛勋爵，恐怕你们将永远也见不到他了。两年前我和他在巴勒莫分的手，当时他正要出发到极遥远的地方去，所以怕他是永远不会回来的了。”

“噢，阁下，您真忍心。”尤莉很感动地说道，她的眼睛里已充满了泪水。

“夫人，”基督山以真挚的目光凝视着那从尤莉脸上滚下来的两颗流动的珍珠，庄重地说道，“要是威玛勋爵看到了我现在所看到的这番情景，他一定会舍不得抛弃这个世界的，因为您所流的眼泪可以使他和人类言归于好的。”于是他伸手给尤莉，尤莉也伸出了她的手，她已被伯爵的神情和声音吸引得不能自制了。

“但这位威玛勋爵，”她紧紧地抱住最后一线希望说道，“总有个故乡，有个家和亲戚什么的吧？总之，总有一个人了解他的吧？那么，难道我们不能”

“噢，别再问了，夫人，”伯爵说道，“别在我的话上建筑渺茫的希望了吧。不，威玛勋爵大概不是您要找的那个人。他是我的朋友，他对我没有什么秘密可隐瞒的，如果有这件事他也不会瞒过我的。”

“而他竟没有告诉过您什么吗？”

“没有。”

“从来没提起过一个字可以使您想到－－”

“从来没有。”

“可是您却一提就提出他来。”

“啊，象这类事情，人们或许会猜测－－”

“妹妹，妹妹，”马西米兰帮着伯爵说道，“伯爵阁下是很对的。想一想我们的父亲常常对我们说的那句话吧：‘这次来救我们的不是个英国人。’”

基督山吃了一惊。“令尊对您说什么，莫雷尔先生？”他急切地问道。

“我父亲认为这件事简直是一件奇迹，他相信那位恩人是从坟墓里爬起来救我们的。噢，这个迷信说来很令人伤心，尽管我自己并不相信，但我也决不愿意破坏父亲的信心。他常常翻来复去地沉思默想这件事，嘴里总念着一位好朋友的名字。那是一位和他永别了的朋友！在他弥留之际，当那永恒之境一步步接近他的时候，他的头脑似乎受到了灵光的启发，而这个念头，本来还只不过是一种怀疑，这时却变成了一种信念，他最后说的话是：‘马西米兰，那个人是爱德蒙·唐太斯！”

听到这句话，伯爵的脸，本来就已愈来愈苍白，这时就苍白得更惊人了。他一时说不出话来了，象是忘了时间似的看了一下他的表，匆匆地和赫伯特夫人说了几句话，又跟艾曼纽和马西米兰握了握手。“夫人，”他说道，“我相信您会允许我经常来拜访你们的，我很珍重你们的友谊，并感激你们的接待，因为很多年以来，我这样克制不住自己的感情，这还是第一次。”

说完他便匆匆地离开了房间。

“这位基督山伯爵真是一个奇人。”艾曼纽说道。

“是的，”马西米兰答道，“但我觉得他一定有一颗非常仁慈的心，而且他很欢喜我们。”

“他的声音直钻进我的心坎里，”尤莉说道，“有两三次，我好象觉得以前曾听到过这种口音似的。”