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Shame upon you, parricide." This time Benedetto opened his eyes in terror, and in a faint voice murmured: "My mother! Yes, yes. Mercy!" Monte-Cristo rose. His gaze met that of Bertuccio, in which he read a silent question. "Are you still going to be charitable?" asked Bertuccio's eye. "The wretch has murdered the mother who bore him? Does he deserve mercy?"
"Since the foundation of the world. I have waited, and now that I have found you, I will not let you go. I will not let you go!" She looked at him with wide-opened eyes: a solemn fear possessed her. Was it Bertuccio's story of yesterday that filled her with foreboding? Hardly.
The house was ready, and the sloop which had arrived a week before lay at anchor in a small creek with her crew of six men, who had observed all the requisite formalities and were ready again to put to sea. The count praised Bertuccio's zeal, and ordered him to prepare for a speedy departure, as his stay in France would not be prolonged more than a month.
Our Lady will think I am not thankful, though the blessed saints know I have never been so thankful in my life as I am for Bertuccio's coming home when he did." "The Madonna will know," said Daphne. "She will like this better than anything else." "Are you sure?" asked Assunta dubiously. "Yes," asserted the girl, laughing. "She told me so!"
"What was his name?" inquired the count, who seemed to become somewhat interested in Bertuccio's story. "Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the village of Carconte, and whom we did not know by any other name than that of her village. She was suffering from malarial fever, and seemed dying by inches.
Carefully, fearlessly, looking into the yellow eye of the king of beasts, Monte-Cristo advanced. The lion growled. The slightest movement would have caused Bertuccio's death. With a bound it sprang at the count. Quick as thought the latter fired. With a roar of pain the majestic beast turned in the air and fell to the ground, dead. The next minute the count knelt at Bertuccio's side.
They usually came home in the splendor of sunset, tired, happy, the red of Daphne's felt hat, the gorgeousness of Bertuccio's blue trousers and yellow waistcoat lighting the gloom of the cool, green-shaded ways. Hermes always ran frisking to meet them, outstripping by his swiftness the slow plodding of the little ass.
The count ordered Coucou to take charge of the dead lion, and of Bertuccio's body, which would be buried in the morning. He then gazed intently at the girl, and recognized two pale six-cornered stars in dead gold color on her cheeks. This filled him with new hope. "Poor Bertuccio," sighed the Jackal, "he was a good comrade." "And a faithful soul," added Monte-Cristo.
Bertuccio's white teeth showed in a broad smile, but no scrutiny on Daphne's part could tell her whether he had told his story for pleasure merely, or for warning. She rode on in silence, realizing, as she had not realized before, how far this peasant stock reached back into the elder days of the ancient world.
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.
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