"But I am speaking seriously; Dumas has rendered more service for the general education of the people than ten ministers. In his 'Three Guardsmen,' for instance, one gets thoroughly acquainted with the histories of Richelieu, Anna of Austria and Louis XIII., in a very interesting manner. In the 'Count of Monte-Cristo' the shortcomings and faults of the government after the overthrow of the great emperor are unsparingly exposed, and in the same way every work of the great novelist offers special merits. The more I think of it the more clearly I understand it, that we also have in your friend, Madame Joliette, a character of the novel before us. Her name is Mercedes, and she is no doubt Madame de Morcerf. And the name of her son?"
"Albert."
"Well, there it is; the father was a scamp, who shot himself, the son and the wife resigned their possessions and then disappeared from society. It will perhaps be best if I send the servant to a library to get the romance; I wager that you will not put the book aside till you have perused it all through?"
Clary nodded and ten minutes later she sat with glowing cheeks and beating heart absorbed in the reading of this interesting novel. She sympathized with Edmond Dantes and Faria, she wept with Mercedes, she hated Villefort, lamented for Madame Danglars, was enthusiastic for Valentine, admired Maximilian and breathed much easier when Madame de Villefort, the inhuman poisoner, had ended her evil career. And over all these personages hovered in wonderful glory the modern knight without fear and blame, the chastising judge, the noble benefactor. Monte-Cristo seemed to the young girl like a god, and when darkness set in and Madame Caraman looked about for her protégée, Clary embraced her and said, sobbing:
"Oh, Mamma Caraman, how beautiful is the romance and how happy do I feel to have seen the count! Yes, so, just so, he ought to appear; oh, Alexandre Dumas is a great man!"
Madame Caraman smiled; she did not expect anything else. Both ladies conversed then more explicitly of the various persons in the romance, and afterward the companion withdrew, as already mentioned, to the veranda to work, and Clary remained, absorbed in a reverie, sitting in a little pavilion ornamented with flowers.
How long she had been meditating she was unable to tell, when all at once without the garden wall a curious noise was heard. Clary lifted her head and listened; the reading had excited her to the extent that at this moment a spectral appearance would have come not unexpectedly and yet she quite plainly noticed a sparkling pair of eyes, which inquiringly turned in all directions. Clary did not stir. A cloud, which up to that moment hid the moon, broke, and the girl recognized the Zouave, who sat upon the wall and then slipped down into the garden. Coucou seemed to know that he was trespassing upon strange ground; he listened for a while, and as everything seemed quiet he selected the walk which led to the veranda.
At the veranda a lamp was burning, and close by stood a basket filled with various skeins and balls of wool, while Madame Caraman sat in her chair snoring comfortably. The Jackal remained motionless at the foot of the veranda and looked up, and as nothing seemed to move, he soon resolved to climb the fence, which was closed by the stairs leading into the garden.
As soon as the Jackal saw Madame Caraman, he became rather agitated; he thought of his mother, and yet he was aware that this lady appeared far younger and more elegant than his mother, even were she alive. With his hands folded over his breast, he looked at the sleeping woman; he did not anticipate that Clary, hid behind a tamarind-tree, watched all his movements and almost broke her head in considering what motive brought the Zouave to this spot.