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There was also a paper dated many years since, signed by her father, authorizing her to reside in the Commune of Selzheim, in Alsace. Sanselme turned sick and dizzy; he caught at the wall for support. "What on earth is the matter?" asked the old woman. He stammered a few incoherent words. Then in a measure recovering himself, he said: "I give you my word that I will take her away in the morning."
We will not dwell on all he endured. But a month later, Sanselme, completely changed in appearance, entered Switzerland, going thence to Germany. Intelligent and active, he had no difficulty in obtaining employment. And Benedetto's crime seemed to have had a marvelous effect upon him. He seemed resolved upon repentance.
Sanselme breathed a sigh of relief. Now he would have the aid he required. He would wait until the priest came up. The outer door stood wide open. It was through this door that Benedetto had fled. Sanselme heard the priest utter an exclamation of surprise, and then he went to his servant's door, and knowing her deafness knocked and called loudly to her to awake. This was Sanselme's salvation.
They were stout, strong fellows, with well-developed muscles, but they were no match for Sanselme. He hurled one against the wall and the other into the middle of the street. "Be off with you!" said Sanselme. "Oh! thank you, sir. But my mother, my poor mother!" The woman had sunk upon the snow exhausted. The girl endeavored to lift her. "Let me," said Sanselme. "Do you live far from here?"
Sanselme drew a long breath and began to run after the carriage he felt no more lassitude nor weakness. His entire vital strength was concentrated in his superhuman effort. And this man who just now could not hold himself erect, ran on swiftly without hesitation. With his eyes on the carriage lamps he followed them unerringly. Somnambulists and madmen alone do such things.
And in the presence of these two young creatures so beautiful in death, the men uncovered their bowed heads and Carmen knelt in passionate weeping. Just as Benedetto leaped into the Seine, another man entered the room where the victims lay. This man was Sanselme.
A secret instinct warned Sanselme that Benedetto would wreak his vengeance on the son of his enemy, and concealed behind the curtain he had given Esperance the warning that had so startled him. Then he hurried away, aghast at what he had done. What was the young Vicomte to him? What did he care for Benedetto's hates?
When the fire caught Jane's robe, he had been a witness of the energetic promptness shown by the young man, and then he said to himself that he was glad he gave the warning. And when they returned home that night, Sanselme had never been in better spirits; it seemed to him that a great Future was unfolding before him. To his surprise he found Jane weeping.
The theatre, so often calumniated, would be her safeguard, and in her pride as a great artist she would forget the past. It was her salvation, her glory, and the path to fortune. She would be respected, honored and happy. These were the dreams in which Sanselme indulged. Perhaps, too, some honest man would give her his name, and that of Jane Zeld would be merged in a happy matron.
That was the only funeral sermon preached over Sanselme. In the Hôtel de Monte-Cristo all is sad and silent. The very walls and the furniture had a funereal air. In the large chamber lie the bodies of Jane and Esperance, the son of Monte-Cristo. How much beauty, youth and tenderness were to be swallowed up in Mother Earth! Jane, vailed in lace, had a tender smile upon her lips.
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