“He must.”
“But if he dies before accomplishing it?” asked Helen.
“It will then devolve upon my younger brother, Julien.”
“And in case he dies?” was Helen’s next inquiry.
“It will then devolve upon——”
“No, no, no. Do not speak, Vivienne! I cannot bear it! You do not mean it. Oh, tell me that I am dreaming—that you did not mean to say——”
“If both should die and I should live,” cried Vivienne, excitedly, “it would be my duty to avenge my father’s death, or his blood would be upon my own hands. Manuel Della Coscia and his son Vandemar are enemies of my family, and if no other hand can do it, mine must send the bullet or handle the stiletto.”
Count Mont d’Oro had so far recovered from his injury that he was able to get about with the help of a couple of walking-sticks. His progress was necessarily slow and any little inadvertence caused him severe pain. On such occasions, his thoughts naturally reverted to his antagonist. He had heard from Villefort of the ill-success of his scheme to entrap Victor, and of the terrible fate of the would-be murderers, both of whom had been found dead in the maquis.
As soon as the Count acquired a limited degree of locomotion, he made his way to the stables, ordered the carriage, and was driven at once to the hotel in Ajaccio. A messenger was despatched in search of Villefort, whose headquarters were at a cabaret kept by Angelo Barbera.
Villefort came at once in response to the summons, and was soon closeted with the Count.