Chapter 219: Chapter 219

Monte Cristo quietly opened the drawing room door and froze. There sat Haydée, slumped in a chair with her arms dangling at her sides and her head thrown back. She’d been standing guard at the door, determined to catch him before he left, but exhaustion had finally won. Sleep had claimed her despite her best efforts to stay awake.

The door’s creak didn’t disturb her. Monte Cristo watched her with a painful mixture of love and regret twisting in his chest.

"She remembered she had a son," he whispered to himself. "And I forgot I had a daughter."

He shook his head, sadness etching lines across his face. "Poor Haydée. She wanted to see me, to talk to me. She knows something’s wrong, or at least suspects it." His voice dropped even lower. "I can’t leave without saying goodbye. I can’t die without making sure someone will take care of her."

He returned to his desk and picked up his pen, adding more lines to the document he’d been writing:

I leave to Maximilian Morrel, captain of cavalry and son of my former benefactor Pierre Morrel, the sum of twenty million francs. He may share part of this fortune with his sister Julia and brother-in-law Emmanuel if he wishes, as long as sudden wealth won’t destroy their happiness. This money is hidden in my grotto at Monte Cristo, Bertuccio knows where. If Maximilian’s heart is free and he chooses to marry Haydée, daughter of Ali Pasha, whom I’ve raised as my own daughter and who has loved me as a father, he will fulfill my final wish. The rest of my fortune, lands, investments in England, Austria, and Holland, furniture in my various properties, I leave to Haydée. Even after the twenty million and the gifts to my servants, it should still total about sixty million francs.

He was finishing the last sentence when a cry from behind made him jump. The pen clattered to the floor.

"Haydée," he said, spinning around. "Did you read it?"

"My lord," she said, her voice shaking. "Why are you writing this at such an hour? Why are you giving me everything? Are you planning to leave me?"

"I’m going on a journey, dear child," Monte Cristo said, his expression filled with tender melancholy. "And if something unfortunate should happen to me-"

"Well?" Haydée’s tone was sharp with authority, a tone he’d never heard from her before. It startled him.

"Well, if something unfortunate happens to me," he tried again, "I want my daughter to be happy."

Haydée smiled, but it was a smile of pure sorrow. She shook her head slowly. "Do you think you’re going to die, my lord?"

"Wise men say it’s good to think about death, my child."

"Then if you’re going to die," she said, her voice suddenly fierce, "leave your fortune to someone else. Because if you die, I won’t need anything."

She snatched the paper from the desk and tore it into four pieces, throwing them into the center of the room. The effort drained what little strength she had left, and she collapsed, not asleep this time, but unconscious.

Monte Cristo rushed to her side, lifting her limp body into his arms. Looking at her pale face, those beautiful eyes closed, her body completely still, a realization struck him like lightning for the first time.

Perhaps she loved him as more than just a father.

"God," he murmured, pain flooding through him. "I could have been happy after all."

He carried Haydée to her bedroom and handed her over to her attendants. Back in his study, he locked the door firmly this time and rewrote the destroyed will word for word. Just as he pressed his seal into the wax for the third time, he heard the sound of a carriage entering the courtyard.

He moved to the window and saw Maximilian and Emmanuel climbing down.

"Good," he said quietly. "Right on time."

A moment later, he heard footsteps in the drawing room. He opened the door himself. Morrel stood there, twenty minutes early for their appointment.

"I may have come too soon, Count," Morrel said, "but I’ll be honest, I haven’t slept at all tonight, and neither has anyone in my house. I need to see your strength and courage to find my own again."

The display of loyalty touched Monte Cristo deeply. He didn’t just extend his hand, he pulled the young man into an embrace.

"Morrel," he said warmly, "it makes me happy to know I’m loved by someone like you. Good morning, Emmanuel. So you’ll come with me, Maximilian?"

"Did you doubt it?" the young captain asked.

"But what if I’m wrong-"

"I watched you yesterday during that entire challenge," Morrel interrupted. "I’ve been thinking about how steady you were all night long. I told myself that justice must be on your side, or a man’s face can no longer be trusted."

"But Morrel, Albert is your friend, isn’t he?"

"Just an acquaintance, sir."

"You met him the same day you met me, though?"

"That’s true, but I wouldn’t have remembered if you hadn’t reminded me."

Monte Cristo rang a bell once. When Ali appeared immediately, he pointed to the sealed document. "Take this to my lawyer. It’s my will, Morrel. When I’m dead, you can go read it."

"What?" Morrel’s eyes widened. "You, dead?"

"Yes. Shouldn’t I be prepared for anything, dear friend? But tell me, what did you do yesterday after you left me?"

"I went to Tortoni’s café, where I knew I’d find Beauchamp and Château-Renaud. I admit I was looking for them on purpose."

"Why, when everything was already arranged?"

"Listen, Count. This situation is serious and unavoidable."

"No. The insult was public, and everyone’s already talking about it."

"So I hoped to negotiate a change of weapons, to use swords instead of pistols. Pistols are too unpredictable."

"Did you succeed?" Monte Cristo asked quickly, a barely visible flicker of hope in his eyes.

"No. Your skill with a sword is too well known."

"The skilled swordsman you defeated once."

"Absolutely refused."

"Morrel," the count said thoughtfully, "have you ever seen me fire a pistol?"

"Well, we have time. Watch this."

Monte Cristo picked up the pistols he’d been holding when Mercédès had visited earlier. He pinned a playing card, the ace of clubs, against an iron plate. With four shots in rapid succession, he cleanly shot off all four corners of the club symbol.

Morrel went pale with each shot. He examined the bullets Monte Cristo had used for this incredible display of accuracy. They were no bigger than buckshot.

"That’s astonishing," he breathed. "Look at this, Emmanuel."

He turned back to Monte Cristo, his face grave. "Count, in the name of everything you hold dear, I’m begging you, don’t kill Albert. That unfortunate young man has a mother."

"You’re right," Monte Cristo said flatly. "And I have none."

The cold tone in which he spoke those words made Morrel shudder.

"You’re the one who was wronged, Count."

"Obviously. What’s your point?"

"That means you’ll fire first."

"I fire first?" The source of this content ɪs n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

"Yes, I secured that right, or rather, demanded it. We’d given them enough other concessions that they had to give us that one."

"And at what distance?"

A smile of terrible meaning crossed the count’s lips.

"Morrel," he said softly, "don’t forget what you just saw."

"Then Albert’s only chance of survival depends on you being emotionally compromised."

"Me? Suffer from emotion?" Monte Cristo raised an eyebrow.

"Or from your generosity, my friend. To a marksman like you, I can say what would sound absurd to anyone else."

"Break his arm. Wound him. But please don’t kill him."

"Let me tell you something, Morrel," the count said. "I don’t need to be begged to spare Monsieur de Morcerf’s life. He’ll be so thoroughly spared that he’ll return home quietly with his two friends. While I-"

"That will be different. I’ll be the one carried home."

"No, no!" Maximilian cried, unable to contain himself.

"As I told you, my dear Morrel, Monsieur de Morcerf will kill me."

Morrel stared at him in complete shock. "But what happened since last night, Count?"

"The same thing that happened to Brutus the night before the battle of Philippi. I’ve seen a ghost."

"Told me, Morrel, that I’ve lived long enough."

Maximilian and Emmanuel exchanged worried glances. Monte Cristo checked his pocket watch.

"Let’s go," he said. "It’s five minutes past seven. The appointment is for eight o’clock."

A carriage waited at the door. Monte Cristo climbed in with his two companions. He’d paused for a moment in the hallway to listen at a door, and Maximilian and Emmanuel, who had tactfully walked ahead, thought they heard him answer a sob from inside with a sigh of his own.

At exactly eight o’clock, they arrived at the meeting place.

"We’re first," Morrel said, looking out the window.

"Excuse me, sir," said Baptistin, who had followed his master despite his obvious terror, "but I think I see a carriage down there under those trees."