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The latter blushed, and continued: "Mercedes deplores the loss of her son, and I desire to restore him to her if it is possible. Think what joy will be mine if Albert flies to the arms of his mother and I can proudly say: 'This is my work." The governess pondered deeply, and Clary, who was deceived by her silence, impetuously exclaimed: "Mamma Caraman, answer me.
"And you wish to follow this 'model' to Africa?" "There is a good deed to be done there, and I, who have nothing to lose, shall follow him." Madame Caraman looked smilingly at her. "I see," she said, simply, "there is nothing to be done but to let you have your way." Clary had expected more resistance.
"What bothers me most," interrupted Coucou, "is the fact that the vicomte took his pistols along." Fanfaro became pensive. "Have you any idea how the young girl was wounded?" he asked after a pause, turning to Madame Caraman. "No, but Monsieur Sabran knows." "The painter? I shall go to him directly." "We have been to his house already, but he has not been home since this morning."
Mercedes very soon became acquainted with the past life of the young English lady she assisted Madame Caraman in all her work to give to Clary's life, up to now aimless, a fixed object and satisfaction, and it stands to reason that the young girl also felt great interest for Mercedes.
"Oh! such a dreadful thing has happened to Monte-Cristo's son!" "To the Vicomte!" cried Fanfar, leaping from his chair. He seized Bobichel's arm rather roughly, and shaking it, cried, "Will you speak?" "Yes, master, but I don't know how to tell you that the Vicomte has gone away." "Gone away, and what of that?" "But he has disappeared!" "Who says so?" "Old Madame Caraman and Coucon."
When Madame Caraman turned around she saw Clary, pale, but with a pair of beaming eyes, standing at the entrance of the room, and in her tiny white hand the yet smoking pistol. The servants rushed in the wounded were made prisoners, and Madame Caraman had to thank Clary with tears in her eyes for her assistance.
The light-hearted girl's full name was Clara Ellis, and three months before, she, and her French governess, the widow of a police sergeant, had settled down in Nice. Madame Caraman, or, as Clary called her, Mamma Caraman, was of sound health, while her young ward, according to the opinion of eminent English physicians, was in an indifferent state of health.
"I will not fail, commander." The Zouave, placing his hand to his cap, went away. In a beautiful garden, adjacent to a small splendid villa, Clary Ellis this evening walked irresolutely to and fro. Madam Caraman, with whom the young girl had a lively conversation, had retired, as she stated, to work on the veranda, and Clary was reflecting on the conversation.
"That is very funny; for three days you haven't closed an eye," said the vicomte. "Lie down for an hour, Mamma Caraman. I promise to call you as soon as the invalid stirs." Mamma Caraman thereupon laid herself upon a sofa, and the next minute she was fast asleep. An hour later the young girl opened her eyes and looked about her. "Where am I?" she murmured.
"Yes, a young girl who had been shot in the breast. She was brought by the vicomte to his house." "I can hardly believe it," muttered Fanfaro. "Madame Caraman and Coucou are in the corridor; they will confirm my statement." "Bring them in." The next minute the Zouave and Caraman were in the room. "The fault is mine!
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