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    Chapter 30

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    Chapter 30
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    CHAPTER 30
    The Fifth of September.

    The extension provided for by the agent of Thomson & French,
    at the moment when Morrel expected it least, was to the poor
    shipowner so decided a stroke of good fortune that he almost
    dared to believe that fate was at length grown weary of
    wasting her spite upon him. The same day he told his wife,
    Emmanuel, and his daughter all that had occurred; and a ray
    of hope, if not of tranquillity, returned to the family.
    Unfortunately, however, Morrel had not only engagements with
    the house of Thomson & French, who had shown themselves so
    considerate towards him; and, as he had said, in business he
    had correspondents, and not friends. When he thought the
    matter over, he could by no means account for this generous
    conduct on the part of Thomson & French towards him; and
    could only attribute it to some such selfish argument as
    this: -- "We had better help a man who owes us nearly
    300,000 francs, and have those 300,000 francs at the end of
    three months than hasten his ruin, and get only six or eight
    per cent of our money back again." Unfortunately, whether
    through envy or stupidity, all Morrel's correspondents did
    not take this view; and some even came to a contrary
    decision. The bills signed by Morrel were presented at his
    office with scrupulous exactitude, and, thanks to the delay
    granted by the Englishman, were paid by Cocles with equal
    punctuality. Cocles thus remained in his accustomed
    tranquillity. It was Morrel alone who remembered with alarm,
    that if he had to repay on the 15th the 50,000 francs of M.
    de Boville, and on the 30th the 32,500 francs of bills, for
    which, as well as the debt due to the inspector of prisons,
    he had time granted, he must be a ruined man.

    The opinion of all the commercial men was that, under the
    reverses which had successively weighed down Morrel, it was
    impossible for him to remain solvent. Great, therefore, was
    the astonishment when at the end of the month, he cancelled
    all his obligations with his usual punctuality. Still
    confidence was not restored to all minds, and the general
    opinion was that the complete ruin of the unfortunate
    shipowner had been postponed only until the end of the
    month. The month passed, and Morrel made extraordinary
    efforts to get in all his resources. Formerly his paper, at
    any date, was taken with confidence, and was even in
    request. Morrel now tried to negotiate bills at ninety days
    only, and none of the banks would give him credit.
    Fortunately, Morrel had some funds coming in on which he
    could rely; and, as they reached him, he found himself in a
    condition to meet his engagements when the end of July came.
    The agent of Thomson & French had not been again seen at
    Marseilles; the day after, or two days after his visit to
    Morrel, he had disappeared; and as in that city he had had
    no intercourse but with the mayor, the inspector of prisons,
    and M. Morrel, his departure left no trace except in the
    memories of these three persons. As to the sailors of the
    Pharaon, they must have found snug berths elsewhere, for
    they also had disappeared.

    Captain Gaumard, recovered from his illness, had returned
    from Palma. He delayed presenting himself at Morrel's, but
    the owner, hearing of his arrival, went to see him. The
    worthy shipowner knew, from Penelon's recital, of the
    captain's brave conduct during the storm, and tried to
    console him. He brought him also the amount of his wages,
    which Captain Gaumard had not dared to apply for. As he
    descended the staircase, Morrel met Penelon, who was going
    up. Penelon had, it would seem, made good use of his money,
    for he was newly clad. When he saw his employer, the worthy
    tar seemed much embarrassed, drew on one side into the
    corner of the landing-place, passed his quid from one cheek
    to the other, stared stupidly with his great eyes, and only
    acknowledged the squeeze of the hand which Morrel as usual
    gave him by a slight pressure in return. Morrel attributed
    Penelon's embarrassment to the elegance of his attire; it
    was evident the good fellow had not gone to such an expense
    on his own account; he was, no doubt, engaged on board some
    other vessel, and thus his bashfulness arose from the fact
    of his not having, if we may so express ourselves, worn
    mourning for the Pharaon longer. Perhaps he had come to tell
    Captain Gaumard of his good luck, and to offer him
    employment from his new master. "Worthy fellows!" said
    Morrel, as he went away, "may your new master love you as I
    loved you, and be more fortunate than I have been!"

    August rolled by in unceasing efforts on the part of Morrel
    to renew his credit or revive the old. On the 20th of August
    it was known at Marseilles that he had left town in the
    mailcoach, and then it was said that the bills would go to
    protest at the end of the month, and that Morrel had gone
    away and left his chief clerk Emmanuel, and his cashier
    Cocles, to meet the creditors. But, contrary to all
    expectation, when the 31st of August came, the house opened
    as usual, and Cocles appeared behind the grating of the
    counter, examined all bills presented with the usual
    scrutiny, and, from first to last, paid all with the usual
    precision. There came in, moreover, two drafts which M.
    Morrel had fully anticipated, and which Cocles paid as
    punctually as the bills which the shipowner had accepted.
    All this was incomprehensible, and then, with the tenacity
    peculiar to prophets of bad news, the failure was put off
    until the end of September. On the 1st, Morrel returned; he
    was awaited by his family with extreme anxiety, for from
    this journey to Paris they hoped great things. Morrel had
    thought of Danglars, who was now immensely rich, and had
    lain under great obligations to Morrel in former days, since
    to him it was owing that Danglars entered the service of the
    Spanish banker, with whom he had laid the foundations of his
    vast wealth. It was said at this moment that Danglars was
    worth from six to eight millions of francs, and had
    unlimited credit. Danglars, then, without taking a crown
    from his pocket, could save Morrel; he had but to pass his
    word for a loan, and Morrel was saved. Morrel had long
    thought of Danglars, but had kept away from some instinctive
    motive, and had delayed as long as possible availing himself
    of this last resource. And Morrel was right, for he returned
    home crushed by the humiliation of a refusal. Yet, on his
    arrival, Morrel did not utter a complaint, or say one harsh
    word. He embraced his weeping wife and daughter, pressed
    Emmanuel's hand with friendly warmth, and then going to his
    private room on the second floor had sent for Cocles.
    "Then," said the two women to Emmanuel, "we are indeed

    It was agreed in a brief council held among them, that Julie
    should write to her brother, who was in garrison at Nimes,
    to come to them as speedily as possible. The poor women felt
    instinctively that they required all their strength to
    support the blow that impended. Besides, Maximilian Morrel,
    though hardly two and twenty, had great influence over his
    father. He was a strong-minded, upright young man. At the
    time when he decided on his profession his father had no
    desire to choose for him, but had consulted young
    Maximilian's taste. He had at once declared for a military
    life, and had in consequence studied hard, passed
    brilliantly through the Polytechnic School, and left it as
    sub-lieutenant of the 53d of the line. For a year he had
    held this rank, and expected promotion on the first vacancy.
    In his regiment Maximilian Morrel was noted for his rigid
    observance, not only of the obligations imposed on a
    soldier, but also of the duties of a man; and he thus gained
    the name of "the stoic." We need hardly say that many of
    those who gave him this epithet repeated it because they had
    heard it, and did not even know what it meant. This was the
    young man whom his mother and sister called to their aid to
    sustain them under the serious trial which they felt they
    would soon have to endure. They had not mistaken the gravity
    of this event, for the moment after Morrel had entered his
    private office with Cocles, Julie saw the latter leave it
    pale, trembling, and his features betraying the utmost
    consternation. She would have questioned him as he passed by
    her, but the worthy creature hastened down the staircase
    with unusual precipitation, and only raised his hands to
    heaven and exclaimed, "Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, what
    a dreadful misfortune! Who could ever have believed it!" A
    moment afterwards Julie saw him go up-stairs carrying two or
    three heavy ledgers, a portfolio, and a bag of money.

    Morrel examined the ledgers, opened the portfolio, and
    counted the money. All his funds amounted to 6,000, or 8,000
    francs, his bills receivable up to the 5th to 4,000 or
    5,000, which, making the best of everything, gave him 14,000
    francs to meet debts amounting to 287,500 francs. He had not
    even the means for making a possible settlement on account.
    However, when Morrel went down to his dinner, he appeared
    very calm. This calmness was more alarming to the two women
    than the deepest dejection would have been. After dinner
    Morrel usually went out and used to take his coffee at the
    Phocaean club, and read the Semaphore; this day he did not
    leave the house, but returned to his office.

    As to Cocles, he seemed completely bewildered. For part of
    the day he went into the court-yard, seated himself on a
    stone with his head bare and exposed to the blazing sun.
    Emmanuel tried to comfort the women, but his eloquence
    faltered. The young man was too well acquainted with the
    business of the house, not to feel that a great catastrophe
    hung over the Morrel family. Night came, the two women had
    watched, hoping that when he left his room Morrel would come
    to them, but they heard him pass before their door, and
    trying to conceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened;
    he went into his sleeping-room, and fastened the door
    inside. Madame Morrel sent her daughter to bed, and half an
    hour after Julie had retired, she rose, took off her shoes,
    and went stealthily along the passage, to see through the
    keyhole what her husband was doing. In the passage she saw a
    retreating shadow; it was Julie, who, uneasy herself, had
    anticipated her mother. The young lady went towards Madame

    "He is writing," she said. They had understood each other
    without speaking. Madame Morrel looked again through the
    keyhole, Morrel was writing; but Madame Morrel remarked,
    what her daughter had not observed, that her husband was
    writing on stamped paper. The terrible idea that he was
    writing his will flashed across her; she shuddered, and yet
    had not strength to utter a word. Next day M. Morrel seemed
    as calm as ever, went into his office as usual, came to his
    breakfast punctually, and then, after dinner, he placed his
    daughter beside him, took her head in his arms, and held her
    for a long time against his bosom. In the evening, Julie
    told her mother, that although he was apparently so calm,
    she had noticed that her father's heart beat violently. The
    next two days passed in much the same way. On the evening of
    the 4th of September, M. Morrel asked his daughter for the
    key of his study. Julie trembled at this request, which
    seemed to her of bad omen. Why did her father ask for this
    key which she always kept, and which was only taken from her
    in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked at

    "What have I done wrong, father," she said, "that you should
    take this key from me?"

    "Nothing, my dear," replied the unhappy man, the tears
    starting to his eyes at this simple question, -- "nothing,
    only I want it." Julie made a pretence to feel for the key.
    "I must have left it in my room," she said. And she went
    out, but instead of going to her apartment she hastened to
    consult Emmanuel. "Do not give this key to your father,"
    said he, "and to-morrow morning, if possible, do not quit
    him for a moment." She questioned Emmanuel, but he knew
    nothing, or would not say what he knew. During the night,
    between the 4th and 5th of September, Madame Morrel remained
    listening for every sound, and, until three o'clock in the
    morning, she heard her husband pacing the room in great
    agitation. It was three o'clock when he threw himself on the
    bed. The mother and daughter passed the night together. They
    had expected Maximilian since the previous evening. At eight
    o'clock in the morning Morrel entered their chamber. He was
    calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in his pale
    and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he had
    slept. Morrel was kinder to his wife, more affectionate to
    his daughter, than he had ever been. He could not cease
    gazing at and kissing the sweet girl. Julie, mindful of
    Emmanuel's request, was following her father when he quitted
    the room, but he said to her quickly, -- "Remain with your
    mother, dearest." Julie wished to accompany him. "I wish you
    to do so," said he.

    This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he
    said it in a tone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not
    dare to disobey. She remained at the same spot standing mute
    and motionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, she
    felt two arms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her
    forehead. She looked up and uttered an exclamation of joy.

    "Maximilian, my dearest brother!" she cried. At these words
    Madame Morrel rose, and threw herself into her son's arms.
    "Mother," said the young man, looking alternately at Madame
    Morrel and her daughter, "what has occurred -- what has
    happened? Your letter has frightened me, and I have come
    hither with all speed."

    "Julie," said Madame Morrel, making a sign to the young man,
    "go and tell your father that Maximilian has just arrived."
    The young lady rushed out of the apartment, but on the first
    step of the staircase she found a man holding a letter in
    his hand.

    "Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?" inquired the man,
    with a strong Italian accent.

    "Yes, sir," replied Julie with hesitation; "what is your
    pleasure? I do not know you."

    "Read this letter," he said, handing it to her. Julie
    hesitated. "It concerns the best interests of your father,"
    said the messenger.

    The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened
    it quickly and read: --

    "Go this moment to the Allees de Meillan, enter the house
    No. 15, ask the porter for the key of the room on the fifth
    floor, enter the apartment, take from the corner of the
    mantelpiece a purse netted in red silk, and give it to your
    father. It is important that he should receive it before
    eleven o'clock. You promised to obey me implicitly. Remember
    your oath.

    "Sinbad the Sailor."

    The young girl uttered a joyful cry, raised her eyes, looked
    round to question the messenger, but he had disappeared. She
    cast her eyes again over the note to peruse it a second
    time, and saw there was a postscript. She read: --

    "It is important that you should fulfil this mission in
    person and alone. If you go accompanied by any other person,
    or should any one else go in your place, the porter will
    reply that he does not know anything about it."

    This postscript decreased greatly the young girl's
    happiness. Was there nothing to fear? was there not some
    snare laid for her? Her innocence had kept her in ignorance
    of the dangers that might assail a young girl of her age.
    But there is no need to know danger in order to fear it;
    indeed, it may be observed, that it is usually unknown
    perils that inspire the greatest terror.

    Julie hesitated, and resolved to take counsel. Yet, through
    a singular impulse, it was neither to her mother nor her
    brother that she applied, but to Emmanuel. She hastened down
    and told him what had occurred on the day when the agent of
    Thomson & French had come to her father's, related the scene
    on the staircase, repeated the promise she had made, and
    showed him the letter. "You must go, then, mademoiselle,"
    said Emmanuel.

    "Go there?" murmured Julie.

    "Yes; I will accompany you."

    "But did you not read that I must be alone?" said Julie.

    "And you shall be alone," replied the young man. "I will
    await you at the corner of the Rue de Musee, and if you are
    so long absent as to make me uneasy, I will hasten to rejoin
    you, and woe to him of whom you shall have cause to complain
    to me!"

    "Then, Emmanuel?" said the young girl with hesitation, "it
    is your opinion that I should obey this invitation?"

    "Yes. Did not the messenger say your father's safety
    depended upon it?"

    "But what danger threatens him, then, Emmanuel?" she asked.

    Emmanuel hesitated a moment, but his desire to make Julie
    decide immediately made him reply.

    "Listen," he said; "to-day is the 5th of September, is it


    "To-day, then, at eleven o'clock, your father has nearly
    three hundred thousand francs to pay?"

    "Yes, we know that."

    "Well, then," continued Emmanuel, "we have not fifteen
    thousand francs in the house."

    "What will happen then?"

    "Why, if to-day before eleven o'clock your father has not
    found someone who will come to his aid, he will be compelled
    at twelve o'clock to declare himself a bankrupt."

    "Oh, come, then, come!" cried she, hastening away with the
    young man. During this time, Madame Morrel had told her son
    everything. The young man knew quite well that, after the
    succession of misfortunes which had befallen his father,
    great changes had taken place in the style of living and
    housekeeping; but he did not know that matters had reached
    such a point. He was thunderstruck. Then, rushing hastily
    out of the apartment, he ran up-stairs, expecting to find
    his father in his study, but he rapped there in vain.

    While he was yet at the door of the study he heard the
    bedroom door open, turned, and saw his father. Instead of
    going direct to his study, M. Morrel had returned to his
    bed-chamber, which he was only this moment quitting. Morrel
    uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of his son, of whose
    arrival he was ignorant. He remained motionless on the spot,
    pressing with his left hand something he had concealed under
    his coat. Maximilian sprang down the staircase, and threw
    his arms round his father's neck; but suddenly he recoiled,
    and placed his right hand on Morrel's breast. "Father," he
    exclaimed, turning pale as death, "what are you going to do
    with that brace of pistols under your coat?"

    "Oh, this is what I feared!" said Morrel.

    "Father, father, in heaven's name," exclaimed the young man,
    "what are these weapons for?"

    "Maximilian," replied Morrel, looking fixedly at his son,
    "you are a man, and a man of honor. Come, and I will explain
    to you."

    And with a firm step Morrel went up to his study, while
    Maximilian followed him, trembling as he went. Morrel opened
    the door, and closed it behind his son; then, crossing the
    anteroom, went to his desk on which he placed the pistols,
    and pointed with his finger to an open ledger. In this
    ledger was made out an exact balance-sheet of his affair's.
    Morrel had to pay, within half an hour, 287,500 francs. All
    he possessed was 15,257 francs. "Read!" said Morrel.

    The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a
    word. What could he say? What need he add to such a
    desperate proof in figures? "And have you done all that is
    possible, father, to meet this disastrous result?" asked the
    young man, after a moment's pause. "I have," replied Morrel.

    "You have no money coming in on which you can rely?"


    "You have exhausted every resource?"


    "And in half an hour," said Maximilian in a gloomy voice,
    "our name is dishonored!"

    "Blood washes out dishonor," said Morrel.

    "You are right, father; I understand you." Then extending
    his hand towards one of the pistols, he said, "There is one
    for you and one for me -- thanks!" Morrel caught his hand.
    "Your mother -- your sister! Who will support them?" A
    shudder ran through the young man's frame. "Father," he
    said, "do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?"

    "Yes, I do so bid you," answered Morrel, "it is your duty.
    You have a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you
    are no ordinary man. I make no requests or commands; I only
    ask you to examine my position as if it were your own, and
    then judge for yourself."

    The young man reflected for a moment, then an expression of
    sublime resignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slow
    and sad gesture he took off his two epaulets, the insignia
    of his rank. "Be it so, then, my father," he said, extending
    his hand to Morrel, "die in peace, my father; I will live."
    Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before his
    son, but Maximilian caught him in his arms, and those two
    noble hearts were pressed against each other for a moment.
    "You know it is not my fault," said Morrel. Maximilian
    smiled. "I know, father, you are the most honorable man I
    have ever known."

    "Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and
    rejoin your mother and sister."

    "My father," said the young man, bending his knee, "bless
    me!" Morrel took the head of his son between his two hands,
    drew him forward, and kissing his forehead several times
    said, "Oh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and in the
    name of three generations of irreproachable men, who say
    through me, 'The edifice which misfortune has destroyed,
    providence may build up again.' On seeing me die such a
    death, the most inexorable will have pity on you. To you,
    perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused to me.
    Then do your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go to
    work, labor, young man, struggle ardently and courageously;
    live, yourself, your mother and sister, with the most rigid
    economy, so that from day to day the property of those whom
    I leave in your hands may augment and fructify. Reflect how
    glorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn, that day
    of complete restoration, on which you will say in this very
    office, 'My father died because he could not do what I have
    this day done; but he died calmly and peaceably, because in
    dying he knew what I should do.'"

    "My father, my father!" cried the young man, "why should you
    not live?"

    "If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest would
    be converted into doubt, pity into hostility; if I live I am
    only a man who his broken his word, failed in his
    engagements -- in fact, only a bankrupt. If, on the
    contrary, I die, remember, Maximilian, my corpse is that of
    an honest but unfortunate man. Living, my best friends would
    avoid my house; dead, all Marseilles will follow me in tears
    to my last home. Living, you would feel shame at my name;
    dead, you may raise your head and say, 'I am the son of him
    you killed, because, for the first time, he has been
    compelled to break his word.'"

    The young man uttered a groan, but appeared resigned.

    "And now," said Morrel, "leave me alone, and endeavor to
    keep your mother and sister away."

    "Will you not see my sister once more?" asked Maximilian. A
    last but final hope was concealed by the young man in the
    effect of this interview, and therefore he had suggested it.
    Morrel shook his head. "I saw her this morning, and bade her

    "Have you no particular commands to leave with me, my
    father?" inquired Maximilian in a faltering voice.

    "Yes; my son, and a sacred command."

    "Say it, my father."

    "The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, from
    humanity, or, it may be, selfishness -- it is not for me to
    read men's hearts -- has had any pity for me. Its agent, who
    will in ten minutes present himself to receive the amount of
    a bill of 287,500 francs, I will not say granted, but
    offered me three months. Let this house be the first repaid,
    my son, and respect this man."

    "Father, I will," said Maximilian.

    "And now, once more, adieu," said Morrel. "Go, leave me; I
    would be alone. You will find my will in the secretary in my

    The young man remained standing and motionless, having but
    the force of will and not the power of execution.

    "Hear me, Maximilian," said his father. "Suppose I was a
    soldier like you, and ordered to carry a certain redoubt,
    and you knew I must be killed in the assault, would you not
    say to me, as you said just now, 'Go, father; for you are
    dishonored by delay, and death is preferable to shame!'"

    "Yes, yes," said the young man, "yes;" and once again
    embracing his father with convulsive pressure, he said, "Be
    it so, my father."

    And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him,
    Morrel remained an instant standing with his eyes fixed on
    the door; then putting forth his arm, he pulled the bell.
    After a moment's interval, Cocles appeared.

    It was no longer the same man -- the fearful revelations of
    the three last days had crushed him. This thought -- the
    house of Morrel is about to stop payment -- bent him to the
    earth more than twenty years would otherwise have done.

    "My worthy Cocles," said Morrel in a tone impossible to
    describe, "do you remain in the ante-chamber. When the
    gentleman who came three months ago -- the agent of Thomson
    & French -- arrives, announce his arrival to me." Cocles
    made no reply; he made a sign with his head, went into the
    anteroom, and seated himself. Morrel fell back in his chair,
    his eyes fixed on the clock; there were seven minutes left,
    that was all. The hand moved on with incredible rapidity, he
    seemed to see its motion.

    What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of
    his agony cannot be told in words. He was still
    comparatively young, he was surrounded by the loving care of
    a devoted family, but he had convinced himself by a course
    of reasoning, illogical perhaps, yet certainly plausible,
    that he must separate himself from all he held dear in the
    world, even life itself. To form the slightest idea of his
    feelings, one must have seen his face with its expression of
    enforced resignation and its tear-moistened eyes raised to
    heaven. The minute hand moved on. The pistols were loaded;
    he stretched forth his hand, took one up, and murmured his
    daughter's name. Then he laid it down seized his pen, and
    wrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not taken a
    sufficient farewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turned
    again to the clock, counting time now not by minutes, but by
    seconds. He took up the deadly weapon again, his lips parted
    and his eyes fixed on the clock, and then shuddered at the
    click of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this moment
    of mortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his brow, a
    pang stronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. He
    heard the door of the staircase creak on its hinges -- the
    clock gave its warning to strike eleven -- the door of his
    study opened; Morrel did not turn round -- he expected these
    words of Cocles, "The agent of Thomson & French."

    He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth.
    Suddenly he heard a cry -- it was his daughter's voice. He
    turned and saw Julie. The pistol fell from his hands. "My
    father!" cried the young girl, out of breath, and half dead
    with joy -- "saved, you are saved!" And she threw herself
    into his arms, holding in her extended hand a red, netted
    silk purse.

    "Saved, my child!" said Morrel; "what do you mean?"

    "Yes, saved -- saved! See, see!" said the young girl.

    Morrel took the purse, and started as he did so, for a vague
    remembrance reminded him that it once belonged to himself.
    At one end was the receipted bill for the 287,000 francs,
    and at the other was a diamond as large as a hazel-nut, with
    these words on a small slip of parchment: -- Julie's Dowry.

    Morrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him a
    dream. At this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if
    each stroke of the hammer fell upon his heart. "Explain, my
    child," he said, "Explain, my child," he said, "explain --
    where did you find this purse?"

    "In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the corner
    of a mantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor."

    "But," cried Morrel, "this purse is not yours!" Julie handed
    to her father the letter she had received in the morning.

    "And did you go alone?" asked Morrel, after he had read it.

    "Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for
    me at the corner of the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say,
    he was not there when I returned."

    "Monsieur Morrel!" exclaimed a voice on the stairs. --
    "Monsieur Morrel!"

    "It is his voice!" said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel
    entered, his countenance full of animation and joy. "The
    Pharaon!" he cried; "the Pharaon!"

    "What -- what -- the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You
    know the vessel is lost."

    "The Pharaon, sir -- they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is
    entering the harbor!" Morrel fell back in his chair, his
    strength was failing him; his understanding weakened by such
    events, refused to comprehend such incredible, unheard-of,
    fabulous facts. But his son came in. "Father," cried
    Maximilian, "how could you say the Pharaon was lost? The
    lookout has signalled her, and they say she is now coming
    into port."

    "My dear friends," said Morrel, "if this be so, it must be a
    miracle of heaven! Impossible, impossible!"

    But what was real and not less incredible was the purse he
    held in his hand, the acceptance receipted -- the splendid

    "Ah, sir," exclaimed Cocles, "what can it mean? -- the

    "Come, dear ones," said Morrel, rising from his seat, "let
    us go and see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be false
    intelligence!" They all went out, and on the stairs met
    Madame Morrel, who had been afraid to go up into the study.
    In a moment they were at the Cannebiere. There was a crowd
    on the pier. All the crowd gave way before Morrel. "The
    Pharaon, the Pharaon!" said every voice.

    And, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean,
    was a ship bearing on her stern these words, printed in
    white letters, "The Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles."
    She was the exact duplicate of the other Pharaon, and
    loaded, as that had been, with cochineal and indigo. She
    cast anchor, clued up sails, and on the deck was Captain
    Gaumard giving orders, and good old Penelon making signals
    to M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there was
    the evidence of the senses, and ten thousand persons who
    came to corroborate the testimony. As Morrel and his son
    embraced on the pier-head, in the presence and amid the
    applause of the whole city witnessing this event, a man,
    with his face half-covered by a black beard, and who,
    concealed behind the sentry-box, watched the scene with
    delight, uttered these words in a low tone: "Be happy, noble
    heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt
    do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like
    your good deeds."

    And with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left his
    hiding-place, and without being observed, descended one of
    the flights of steps provided for debarkation, and hailing
    three times, shouted "Jacopo, Jacopo, Jacopo!" Then a launch
    came to shore, took him on board, and conveyed him to a
    yacht splendidly fitted up, on whose deck he sprung with the
    activity of a sailor; thence he once again looked towards
    Morrel, who, weeping with joy, was shaking hands most
    cordially with all the crowd around him, and thanking with a
    look the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking in
    the skies. "And now," said the unknown, "farewell kindness,
    humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that
    expand the heart! I have been heaven's substitute to
    recompense the good -- now the god of vengeance yields to me
    his power to punish the wicked!" At these words he gave a
    signal, and, as if only awaiting this signal, the yacht
    instantly put out to sea.
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    Chapter 30
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