《基督山伯爵》第043章 欧特伊别墅
MONTE CRISTO noticed, as they descended the staircase, that Bertuccio signed himself in the Corsican manner; that is, had formed the sign of the cross in the air with his thumb, and as he seated himself in the carriage, muttered a short prayer. Any one but a man of exhaustless thirst for knowledge would have had pity on seeing the steward's extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive without the walls; but the Count was too curious to let Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes they were at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to augment as they entered the village. Bertuccio, crouched in the corner of the carriage, began to examine with a feverish anxiety every house they passed. "Tell them to stop at Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28," said the count, fixing his eyes on the steward, to whom he gave this order. Bertuccio's forehead was covered with perspiration; however, he obeyed, and, leaning out of the window, he cried to the coachman,--"Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28." No. 28 was situated at the extremity of the village; during the drive night had set in, and darkness gave the surroundings the artificial appearance of a scene on the stage. The carriage stopped, the footman sprang off the box, and opened the door. "Well," said the count, "you do not get out, M. Bertuccio--you are going to stay in the carriage, then? What are you thinking of this evening?" Bertuccio sprang out, and offered his shoulder to the count, who, this time, leaned upon it as he descended the three steps of the carriage. "Knock," said the count, "and announce me." Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and the conci猫rge appeared. "What is it?" asked he.
"It is your new master, my good fellow," said the footman. And he held out to the conci猫rge the notary's order.
"The house is sold, then?" demanded the conci猫rge; "and this gentleman is coming to live here?"
"Yes, my friend," returned the count; "and I will endeavor to give you no cause to regret your old master."
"Oh, monsieur," said the conci猫rge, "I shall not have much cause to regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five years since he was here last, and he did well to sell the house, for it did not bring him in anything at all."
"What was the name of your old master?" said Monte Cristo.
"The Marquis of Saint-M茅ran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold the house for what he gave for it."
"The Marquis of Saint-M茅ran!" returned the count. "The name is not unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-M茅ran!" and he appeared to meditate.
"An old gentleman," continued the conci猫rge, "a stanch follower of the Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who married M. de Villefort, who had been the king's attorney at N?mes, and afterwards at Versailles." Monte Cristo glanced at Bertuccio, who became whiter than the wall against which he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard so."
"Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we have not seen the poor marquis three times."
"Thanks, thanks," said Monte Cristo, judging from the steward's utter prostration that he could not stretch the cord further without danger of breaking it. "Give me a light."
"Shall I accompany you, monsieur?"
"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the conci猫rge. "Ah, monsieur," said he, after having vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, "I have not got any candles."
"Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio," said the count, "and show me the apartments." The steward obeyed in silence, but it was easy to see, from the manner in which the hand that held the light trembled, how much it cost him to obey. They went over a tolerably large ground-floor; a second floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, and two bedrooms; near one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase that led down to the garden.
"Ah, here is a private staircase," said the count; "that is convenient. Light me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will see where it leads to."
"Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it leads to the garden."
"And, pray, how do you know that?"
"It ought to do so, at least."
"Well, let us be sure of that." Bertuccio sighed, and went on first; the stairs did, indeed, lead to the garden. At the outer door the steward paused. "Go on, Monsieur Bertuccio," said the count. But he who was addressed stood there, stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible event, and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to shut out horrible recollections. "Well," insisted the Count. "No, no," cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the angle of the interior wall. "No, monsieur, it is impossible; I can go no farther."
"What does this mean?" demanded the irresistible voice of Monte Cristo.
"Why, you must see, your excellency," cried the steward, "that this is not natural; that, having a house to purchase, you purchase it exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it at Auteuil, this house should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine. Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you would not have forced me to come. I hoped your house would have been some other one than this; as if there was not another house at Auteuil than that of the assassination!"
"What, what!" cried Monte Cristo, stopping suddenly, "what words do you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are--always mysteries or superstitions. Come, take the lantern, and let us visit the garden; you are not afraid of ghosts with me, I hope?" Bertuccio raised the lantern, and obeyed. The door, as it opened, disclosed a gloomy sky, in which the moon strove vainly to struggle through a sea of clouds that covered her with billows of vapor which she illumined for an instant, only to sink into obscurity. The steward wished to turn to the left. "No, no, monsieur," said Monte Cristo. "What is the use of following the alleys? Here is a beautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards."
Bertuccio wiped the perspiration from his brow, but obeyed; however, he continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo, on the contrary, took the right hand; arrived near a clump of trees, he stopped. The steward could not restrain himself. "Move, monsieur--move away, I entreat you; you are exactly in the spot!"
"What spot?"
"Where he fell."
"My dear Monsieur Bertuccio," said Monte Cristo, laughing, "control yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This is not a Corsican arbor, but an English garden; badly kept, I own, but still you must not calumniate it for that."
"Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!"
"I think you are going mad, Bertuccio," said the count coldly. "If that is the case, I warn you, I shall have you put in a lunatic asylum."
"Alas, excellency," returned Bertuccio, joining his hands, and shaking his head in a manner that would have excited the count's laughter, had not thoughts of a superior interest occupied him, and rendered him attentive to the least revelation of this timorous conscience. "Alas, excellency, the evil has arrived!"
"M. Bertuccio," said the count, "I am very glad to tell you, that while you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll your eyes like a man possessed by a devil who will not leave him; and I have always observed, that the devil most obstinate to be expelled is a secret. I knew you were a Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and always brooding over some old history of the vendetta; and I overlooked that in Italy, because in Italy those things are thought nothing of. But in France they are considered in very bad taste; there are gendarmes who occupy themselves with such affairs, judges who condemn, and scaffolds which avenge." Bertuccio clasped his hands, and as, in all these evolutions, he did not let fall the lantern, the light showed his pale and altered countenance. Monte Cristo examined him with the same look that, at Rome, he had bent upon the execution of Andrea, and then, in a tone that made a shudder pass through the veins of the poor steward,--"The Abb茅 Busoni, then told me an untruth," said he, "when, after his journey in France, in 1829, he sent you to me, with a letter of recommendation, in which he enumerated all your valuable qualities. Well, I shall write to the abb茅; I shall hold him responsible for his protege's misconduct, and I shall soon know all about this assassination. Only I warn you, that when I reside in a country, I conform to all its code, and I have no wish to put myself within the compass of the French laws for your sake."
"Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you faithfully," cried Bertuccio, in despair. "I have always been an honest man, and, as far as lay in my power, I have done good."
"I do not deny it," returned the count; "but why are you thus agitated. It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not occasion such paleness in the cheeks, and such fever in the hands of a man."
"But, your excellency," replied Bertuccio hesitatingly, "did not the Abb茅 Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison at N?mes, tell you that I had a heavy burden upon my conscience?"
"Yes; but as he said you would make an excellent steward, I concluded you had stolen--that was all."
"Oh, your excellency," returned Bertuccio in deep contempt.
"Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to resist the desire of making a 'stiff,' as you call it."
"Yes, my good master," cried Bertuccio, casting himself at the count's feet, "it was simply vengeance--nothing else."
"I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that galvanizes you in this manner."
"But, monsieur, it is very natural," returned Bertuccio, "since it was in this house that my vengeance was accomplished."
"What! my house?"
"Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then."
"Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-M茅ran, I think, the conci猫rge said. What had you to revenge on the Marquis de Saint-M茅ran?"
"Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another."
"This is strange," returned Monte Cristo, seeming to yield to his reflections, "that you should find yourself without any preparation in a house where the event happened that causes you so much remorse."
"Monsieur," said the steward, "it is fatality, I am sure. First, you purchase a house at Auteuil--this house is the one where I have committed an assassination; you descend to the garden by the same staircase by which he descended; you stop at the spot where he received the blow; and two paces farther is the grave in which he had just buried his child. This is not chance, for chance, in this case, is too much like providence."
"Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence. I always suppose anything people please, and, besides, you must concede something to diseased minds. Come, collect yourself, and tell me all."
"I have related it but once, and that was to the Abb茅 Busoni. Such things," continued Bertuccio, shaking his head, "are only related under the seal of confession."
"Then," said the count, "I refer you to your confessor. Turn Chartreux or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for me, I do not like any one who is alarmed by such phantasms, and I do not choose that my servants should be afraid to walk in the garden of an evening. I confess I am not very desirous of a visit from the commissary of police, for, in Italy, justice is only paid when silent--in France she is paid only when she speaks. Peste, I thought you somewhat Corsican, a great deal smuggler, and an excellent steward; but I see you have other strings to your bow. You are no longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio."
"Oh, your excellency, your excellency!" cried the steward, struck with terror at this threat, "if that is the only reason I cannot remain in your service, I will tell all, for if I quit you, it will only be to go to the scaffold."
"That is different," replied Monte Cristo; "but if you intend to tell an untruth, reflect it were better not to speak at all."
"No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I will tell you all, for the Abb茅 Busoni himself only knew a part of my secret; but, I pray you, go away from that plane-tree. The moon is just bursting through the clouds, and there, standing where you do, and wrapped in that cloak that conceals your figure, you remind me of M. de Villefort."
"What!" cried Monte Cristo, "it was M. de Villefort?"
"Your excellency knows him?"
"The former royal attorney at N?mes?"
"Yes."
"Who married the Marquis of Saint-M茅ran's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the most upright, the most rigid magistrate on the bench?"
"Well, monsieur," said Bertuccio, "this man with this spotless reputation"--
"Well?"
"Was a villain."
"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, "impossible!"
"It is as I tell you."
"Ah, really," said Monte Cristo. "Have you proof of this?"
"I had it."
"And you have lost it; how stupid!"
"Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered."
"Really," returned the count, "relate it to me, for it begins to interest me." And the count, humming an air from Lucia di Lammermoor, went to sit down on a bench, while Bertuccio followed him, collecting his thoughts. Bertuccio remained standing before him.
基督山注意到,当他们跨上马车的时候,贝尔图乔曾做了一个科西嘉式的手势,即用他的大拇指在空中划了一个十字,而当他坐进马车里的时候,又喃喃地低声作了一个简短的祷告。管家这种古怪的举动,显然是他忌讳伯爵这次出门,除了喜欢刨根问底的人,谁见了都会可怜他的,但伯爵的好奇心似乎太重了,非要贝尔图乔跟着他跑这一趟不可。不到二十分钟,他们便到了欧特伊,他们进了村庄以后管家显得愈来愈烦躁不安。贝尔图乔缩在马车的角落里,开始焦急不安地察看经过的每一座房子。
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贝尔图乔的前额上满是汗珠,但还是照办了,他把头从窗口里探出去,对车夫喊道:鈥湻嫉そ侄撕拧b
二十八号在村子的尽头,在车子向前走的时候,夜幕渐渐降临了,说得确切些,天空中出现了一大片带电的乌云,使薄暮中的这场戏剧化的插曲被包围在庄严的气氛里。马车停住了,听差从车夫的座位上跳下来,打开了车门。
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贝尔图乔慌忙跳下车,直挺挺地站在车门旁边,伯爵扶住他的肩头走下马车的三级踏板。
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鈥準路梅朗侯爵。啊,我相信他不是为了钱才卖这所房子的吧。鈥
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基督山这时向贝尔图乔瞟了一眼,只见贝尔图乔正将身子靠在墙上,以免跌倒,他的脸比他所靠的那面墙还要白。鈥溗飧雠皇撬懒寺穑库澔缴轿实溃溛液孟筇苏庋倒b
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管家一声不响地服从着命令,但他拿灯的那只手在发抖,从这一点上,很容易看出他这次的服从付出了多大的代价。二楼有一间客厅,一间浴室和两间卧室,这两间卧室中的一间和一座螺旋形的楼梯相连,楼梯出去便是花园。
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贝尔图乔叹了一口气,走在了前头。这座楼梯的确是通到花园里去的。一到门口,管家就站住了。鈥溩甙。炊记窍壬b澆羲档馈5苑饺创粼谀抢锪耍皇堑勺叛郏殖鲆桓鄙裰静磺宓难樱蔷攀Т氲难劬ο蛩拿婊饭俗牛笫茄罢夜ツ臣膳碌氖虑榈暮奂K频模纸艚舻匚粘闪巳罚坪踅吡σ献吣持挚植赖幕匾洹
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贝尔图乔服从了命令,提起风灯。门一打开,就露出一个阴沉沉的天空,月亮在一片云海里徒然地挣扎着,它偶尔也会露面,但立刻就又被阴沉沉的翻滚的乌云所遮盖了,消失在了黑暗里。管家想往左转。
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贝尔图乔抹了一把额头上冒出的冷汗,还是服从了,但是,他却继续向左斜着走。基督山则恰巧相反,向右斜着走,到了一丛树木旁边,他停下来不走了。管家再也控制不住了。
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贝尔图乔两手紧紧地扭在了一起,但即使这样,他也没有让那盏风灯跌落到地上,灯光照出了他苍白而变了形的脸。基督山带着他在罗马看安德烈受刑时的那种表情详详细细地观察着他,然后,他又用一种使那可怜的管家全身发抖的口吻说道:鈥溎敲此担忌衬嵘窀ζ燮宋伊恕R话硕拍辏臃ü眯谢乩匆院螅心隳昧艘环饨樯苄诺轿艺舛矗谀欠饨樯苄爬铮樯芰四愕闹种钟诺恪:茫蚁衷诳梢孕葱鸥窀Γ邓萍龅娜擞胁涣夹形乙兴涸稹6赜谡庾瞪笔录痪梦揖突嵬耆赖摹V皇俏乙婺悖易≡谀囊桓龉遥鸵袷啬囊桓龉业姆桑也幌胛四愕脑倒屎头ü痉ɑ啬志婪住b
鈥溹蓿氡鹉茄觯笕耍乙幌蚨际侵倚牡厥谭钅模澅炊记蔷卮笊档溃溛乙幌蛭硕己艹鲜担谖伊λ芗暗姆段冢易苁窃谙蚝玫姆矫孀龅摹b
鈥溛也⒉环袢险庖坏悖澆舸鸬溃湹阄裁凑庋耪拧U饪刹皇呛孟窒螅桓瞿谛那灏椎娜耍牧巢换嵴庋野祝氖植换嵴庋⒍垛
鈥湹牵舾笙拢澅炊记峭掏掏峦碌厮档溃溛以谀崮芳嘤锏氖焙颍圆忌衬嵘窀︹慊诹艘患约悍浅:蠡诘氖拢忻挥邪涯羌露阅倒库
鈥準堑模凰的憧梢缘币幻錾墓芗遥晕乙晕阒徊还峭倒鞫选b
鈥溹蓿舾笙拢♀澅炊记乔崦锏亟谐隽松
鈥溎敲矗慵热皇且桓隹莆骷稳耍阋残碓茨尾蛔⌒耐返呐穑晒忝撬解樥岸櫟氖隆b
鈥準堑模业暮弥魅耍澅炊记谴蠛傲艘簧蛊说乖诓舻慕徘埃湶晃鸬模晃ㄒ淮纬鸲选b
鈥溦馕叶耍也欢羌略趺从衷谀阈睦锼阑腋慈计鹄矗鼓惚涑烧飧鲅印b
鈥湸笕耍馐欠浅W匀坏模澅炊记腔卮鹚担溡蛭宜凳窃谡庾孔永锉ǖ某稹b
鈥準裁矗谖业姆孔永铮库
鈥溹蓿舾笙拢笔彼共皇悄哪亍b
鈥準撬模磕敲矗鞘路梅朗侯爵的了,我记得门房说过。但你对圣路梅朗侯爵有什么仇要报呢?鈥
鈥溹蓿皇撬笕耍橇硗庖桓鋈恕b
鈥溦馓凑媸怯械闫婀郑澔缴交卮鹚担坪跸笤谙胧裁葱乃妓频模溎憔共恢痪醯糜峙艿搅郊渥约鹤龉浅:蠡诘氖碌姆孔永锢戳恕b
鈥湸笕耍澒芗宜档溃溛蚁嘈耪馐敲5谝唬谂诽匾谅蛄艘蛔孔樱钦俏野瞪惫说囊蛔孔樱交ㄔ袄锢淳模歉雎ヌ菡撬吖模歉瞿镜牡胤揭舱撬淮痰牡胤剑欢讲铰分猓撬裨崴⒆拥姆啬埂U庖磺胁皇桥既坏模蛭饧蛑碧笫翘煲饬恕b
鈥満冒桑莆骷蜗壬揖退阏馐翘煲獍伞V灰思腋咝耍易苁鞘裁炊伎贤獾模遥愕耐纺砸丫忻×耍阋欢ǖ枚运貌健@矗胂肭宄岩磺卸冀哺姨伞b
鈥溦饧挛抑欢砸桓鋈私财鸸褪遣忌衬嵘窀ΑU庵质虑椋澅炊记且∫⊥罚绦档溃溨挥性阝慊谑Φ拿媲安趴梢越病b
鈥溎敲矗澆羲档溃溛抑傅隳闳フ腋鲡慊谑Π伞D闳フ乙桓隹ǖ铝襞苫虬啄赏づ傻拟慊谑Γ涯愕拿孛芏冀哺伞N铱刹幌不蹲吧衽硐呕W约旱娜耍铱刹辉敢庥猛砩吓略诨ㄔ袄镒呗返钠腿恕N页腥衔也⒉皇衷敢饪吹骄炀掷锢慈税莘茫蛭谝獯罄灰兆觳唤玻ㄔ壕筒换崂凑衣榉衬悖诜ü挥邢人党隼床拍芙馔炎约骸U娴模∥乙晕愣嗌僮苡械憧莆骷稳说钠剩且桓鼍榉岣坏淖咚椒纷樱桓龀錾墓芗遥蚁衷诳闯瞿阍椿褂斜鸬拿谩D悴辉偈俏业娜肆耍炊记窍壬b
鈥溹蓿舾笙拢舾笙拢♀澒芗掖笊档溃徽饪窒畔呕盗耍溂偃缰皇俏苏飧鲈蛭揖筒荒茉偌绦Ю土耍夷赴岩磺卸冀渤隼矗蛭乙焕肟椭荒苌隙贤诽恕b
鈥溎乔榭霾煌耍澔缴交卮鹚怠b湹阋肭宄偃缒阆肴龌眩共蝗绮唤参睢b
鈥湶唬笕耍乙晕伊榛甑镁鹊拿逑蚰⑹模乙欢ò岩磺惺登槎冀哺蛭业拿孛懿忌衬嵘窀σ仓恢酪徊糠郑仪竽壤肟侵攴ü嗤T铝琳釉贫牙镒瓿隼矗镜哪歉龅氐悖湍∪淼恼饧纾刮蚁肫鹆宋O壬b
鈥準裁矗♀澔缴酱笊械溃溤词俏O壬
鈥湸笕巳鲜端库
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鈥準堑摹b
鈥溗痪褪侨⒘耸路梅朗侯爵的女儿的那个人吗?鈥
鈥溡簿褪窃谀壳八痉ń绾蘸沼忻还衔钛侠鳎钫保钏腊宓哪歉鋈寺穑库
鈥溑叮笕耍炊记撬担溦飧雒阻滴掼Φ娜蒜
鈥溤趺囱库
鈥準且桓鑫蕹苤健b
鈥準裁矗♀澔缴交卮鹚担湶豢赡馨伞b
鈥溛腋嫠吣氖鞘祷啊b
鈥湴。娴模♀澔缴剿档馈b溎阌兄ぞ萋穑库
鈥溣械摹b
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鈥溦娴穆穑库澆舸鸬溃溄哺姨桑蛭鹆宋业男巳ぁb澯谑遣舸乓恢趾芮崴傻纳衿吖プ诹艘惶醭さ噬希炊记钦褡髌鹁窀先フ驹诹怂那懊妗
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