Monte Cristo and his wife
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Extrait du chapitre 50, The assassination
As a result of this
conversation, on the night to which we have drawn the
reader'sattention, Benedetto and the baron were sitting
in Madame Herminie's bedroom, with their thoughts
concentrated more on the millions in the iron safe than
on the account she was giving them of her trip to
Marseilles.
"She is dead, dead," she concluded. "I saw her light the
charcoal furnace and inhale the poisonous gases until
she fell a corpse on the floor. Then I came away. Our
mission is completed."
"Not entirely, my dear mother," said Benedetto; you
forget that the Count of Monte-Cristo lives."
"What of it? We were not to pit our strength against
him. We have wrung his heart as it is. It would be folly
to waste any money in attempting to overcome him."
"How calculating you have become, my dear," said her
husband. "As long as you had your own private grudge to
satisfy against Mercedes you were willing enough to
become a partner in our little game and supply us with
the necessary capital. Now that you have accomplished
your purpose you draw back. You think, that being a
woman, the count will not wreak his vengeance on you.
Perhaps you are right. He will hold me responsible not
only for my acts but also for yours, since you are my
wife. Benedetto and I must guard ourselves against him,
and for that purpose we need more money."
"Yes," chimed in Benedetto, "we need more money, and
lots of it, too."
Madame Herminie gazed at the two men before her, and
then the truth flashed through her brain. They were
there to murder and rob her.
She grew deathly pale as she remembered that she had
locked the door, and that it and the walls of the room
had been purposely built so thick that however much she
might scream and call for help, not a sound could be
heard without.
Together with the fear for her life was also the desire,
strong within her, to retain possession of her money.
Her husband had judged her rightly when he said that she
was very covetous.
She rose to her feet. The two men rose at the same time.
"This talk about the Count of Monte-Cristo is a mere
pretense, she said, pressing her hand to her breast and
seeking to conceal her terror. "You want the money for
yourselves. Tell me how much, and if it is a reasonable
amount, I will give it to you.
"It will be simpler, mother mine," said Benedetto,
coolly, "for you to hand us the key of your safe. We
will help ourselves."
"Yes, we will help ourselves," echoed the baron.
"Then you propose to rob me," she desperately said.
"Nonsense, mother," retorted Benedetto, with a horrible
laugh. "Is not the baron your husband? Is he not, under
the laws of France, entitled to his wife's earnings! Am
I not your son and heir? We are not robbing you. He is
simply taking what belongs to him, I am merely drawing
an advance on my inheritance. So hand over the key,
mother dear, and say no more".
"Help! murder! Help!" she cried, making a sudden dash
for the door, and frantically endeavoring to turn the
key in the lock.
Benedetto caught her by her hair and pulled her back
into the center of the room.
"Oh, no," he said, "you can't come that game over us.
Baron, just see if you can find the key on her."
"Mercy, husband, son!" gasped the unhappy woman.
Benedetto threw her down on the floor and pinioned her
bands and feet, while the baron searched her and found
the key in her bosom.
"I have the key," he said.
He was very pale, and his teeth chattered a little as he
spoke. He did not very much fancy this kind of work, but
he, also, was afraid of the inhuman monster Madame
Herminie had given birth to.
"Very good. Open the safe and take out the money."
The baron obeyed, and soon the floor was heaped up with
bags of gold and piles of bank-notes.
"We have the money," said the baron, "you may let her go
now."
"Oh let me live, Benedetto; let your mother live,"
pleaded the poor woman struggling to release herself.
"For you to denounce us," retorted the assassin, as he
knelt over the prostrate form with one knee on her
heart, and clutching her throat with his left hand. "I'm
not such a fool as that. What would you care for us,
that we are your husband and son? You would send us to
the guillotine at the first opportunity."
"Mercy, Benedetto, mercy!" she gasped.
"Here's all the mercy you deserve."
He plunged his stiletto - that stiletto which was
encrimsoned with the life-blood of so many victims -
deep into her breast. A stream of blood spurted from the
ghastly wound.
"Inhuman offspring!" gurgled Madame Herminie.
"Here - complete the job," exclaimed the assassin,
throwing the reeking weapon to the baron.
"I - I cannot," cried the latter, horrified, covering
his face with his hands.
"You must," hissed Benedetto, drawing his pistol and
cocking it. "You must share the crime with me or I will
blow your brains out. "
He leveled his weapon at the baron's head.
The latter, pale as death, and trembling in every limb,
stooped and picked up the bloody stiletto.
"Do you want me to kill you?" inquired the Corsican, as
the other still hesitated.
The baron tottered rather than walked to where his dying
wife lay, and stooping over her, closed his eyes, as he
thrust the weapon in her heart.
"You too - husband? " gasped Madame Herminie.
The next moment she was a corpse.