The Count of Monte Cristo. Alexandre Dumas
inside between two gendarmes, the two others took their places opposite, and the carriage rolled heavily over the stones.
The prisoner glanced at the windows, they were grated; he had changed his prison for another that was conveying him he knew not whither. Through the grating, however, Dantès saw they were passing through the Rue Caisserie, and by the Quay Saint-Laurent and the Rue Taramis, to the port.
The carriage stopped, the exempt descended, approached the guardhouse, a dozen soldiers came out and formed themselves in order; Dantès saw the reflection of their muskets by the light of the lamps on the quay.
“Can all this force be summoned on my account?” thought he.
The exempt opened the door, which was locked, and, without speaking a word, answered Dantès’ question, for he saw between the ranks of the soldiers a passage formed from the carriage to the port.
The two gendarmes who were opposite to him descended first. Then he was ordered to alight, and the gendarmes on each side of him followed his example. They advanced towards a boat, which a custom-house officer held by a chain, near the quay.
The soldiers looked at Dantès with an air of stupid curiosity. In an instant he was placed in the sternsheets of the boat between the gendarmes, whilst the exempt stationed himself at the bow; a shove sent the boat adrift, and four sturdy oarsmen impelled it rapidly towards the Pilon. At a shout from the boat the chain that closes the mouth of the port was lowered, and in a second they were outside the harbour.
The prisoner’s first feeling was joy at again breathing the pure air, for air is freedom; but he soon sighed, for he passed before La Réserve, where he had that morning been so happy, and now through the open windows came the laughter and revelry of a ball.
Dantès folded his hands, raised his eyes to heaven, and prayed fervently.
The boat continued her voyage. They had passed the Tête de More, were now in front of the lighthouse, and about to double the battery; this manœuvre was incomprehensible to Dantès.
“Whither are you taking me?” asked he.
“You will soon know.”
“But still———”
“We are forbidden to give you any explanation.”
Dantès knew that nothing would be more absurd than to question subordinates, who were forbidden to reply, and remained silent.
The most vague and wild thoughts passed through his mind. The boat they were in could not make a long voyage, there was no vessel at anchor outside the harbour; he thought, perhaps, they were going to leave him on some distant point. He was not bound, nor had they made any attempt to handcuff him; this seemed a good augury. Besides, had not the deputy who had been so kind to him told him that provided he did not pronounce the dreaded name of Noirtier, he had nothing to apprehend. Had not Villefort in his presence destroyed the fatal letter, the only proof against him? He waited silently, striving to pierce through the darkness.
They had left the Ile Ratonneau, where the lighthouse stood, on the right, and were now opposite the Point des Catalans. It seemed to the prisoner that he could distinguish a female form on the beach, for it was there Mercédès dwelt.
How was it that a presentiment did not warn Mercédès her lover was near her?
One light alone was visible, and Dantès recognised it as coming from the chamber of Mercédès. A loud cry could be heard by her. He did not utter it. What would his guards think if they heard him shout like a madman?
He remained silent, his eyes fixed upon the light; the boat went on, but the prisoner only thought of Mercédès. A rising ground hid the light. Dantès turned and perceived they had got out to sea. Whilst he had been absorbed in thought they hoisted the sail.
In spite of his repugnance to address the guards, Dantès turned to the nearest gendarme, and taking his hand:
“Comrade,” said he, “I adjure you as a Christian and a soldier, to tell me where we are going. I am Captain Dantès, a loyal Frenchman, though accused of treason; tell me where you are conducting me, and I promise you on my honour I will submit to my fate.”
The gendarme looked irresolutely at his companion, who returned for answer a sigh that said, “I see no great harm in telling him now,” and the gendarme replied:
“You are a native of Marseilles and a sailor, and yet you do not know where you are going?”
“On my honour, I have no idea.”
“That is impossible.”
“I swear to you it is true. Tell me, I entreat.”
“But my orders.”
“Your orders do not forbid your telling me what I must know in ten minutes, in half an hour, or an hour. You see I cannot escape, even if I intended.”
“Unless you are blind, or have never been outside the harbour you must know.”
“I do not.”
“Look round you then.”
Dantès rose and looked forward, when he saw rise within a hundred yards of him the black and frowning rock on which stands the Château d’If. This gloomy fortress, which has for more than three hundred years furnished food for so many wild legends, seemed to Dantès like a scaffold to a malefactor.
“The Château d’If!” cried he; “what are we going there for?”
The gendarme smiled.
“I am not going there to be imprisoned,” said Dantès; “it is only used for political prisoners. I have committed no crime. Are there any magistrates or judges at the Château d’If?”
“There are only,” said the gendarme, “a governor, a garrison, turnkeys, and good thick walls. Come, come, do not look so astonished, or you will make me think you are laughing at me in return for my good nature.”
Dantès pressed the gendarme’s hand as though he would crush it.
“You think, then,” said he, “that I am conducted to the Château to be imprisoned there?”
“It is probable; but there is no occasion to squeeze so hard.”
“Without any formality.”
“All the formalities have been gone through.”
“In spite of M. de Villefort’s promises?”
“I do not know what M. de Villefort promised you,” said the gendarme, “but I know we are taking you to the Château d’If. But what are you doing? Help! comrades, help!”
By a rapid movement, which the gendarme’s practised eye had perceived, Dantès sprang forward to precipitate himself into the sea, but four vigorous arms seized him as his feet quitted the flooring of the boat. He fell back foaming with rage.
“Good!” said the gendarme, placing his knee on his chest; “believe soft-spoken gentlemen again! Harkye, my friend, I have disobeyed my first order, but I will not disobey the second, and if you move I lodge a bullet in your brain.”
And he levelled his carbine at Dantès, who felt the muzzle touch his head.
For a moment the idea of struggling crossed his mind, and so end the unexpected evil that had overtaken him. But he bethought him of M. de Villefort’s promise; and, besides, death in a boat from the hand of a gendarme seemed too terrible. He remained motionless, but gnashing his teeth with fury.
At this moment a violent shock made the bark tremble. One of the sailors leaped on shore, a cord creaked as it ran through a pulley, and Dantès guessed they were at the end of the voyage.
His guardians, taking hold of his arms, forced him to rise, and dragged him towards the steps that lead to the gate of the fortress, while the exempt followed, armed with a carbine and bayonet.
Dantès made no resistance, he was like