The officials looked suspiciously at him, and remarked that the young lady would have something else to do than wander in the streets at this time of night. Anselmo sorrowfully bowed his head, and, after thanking them, continued on his way.
He had reached the polygon and listened attentively. He heard steps, but not the right ones. Suppose Jane had committed suicide?
She had been so painfully excited this evening, and Anselmo, who knew her past, shuddered when he thought that the Seine was not far away.
Without a pause he ran to the edge of the water; the dawning day was raw and chilly, and Anselmo shuddered as he looked in the dark waves. Were they taking his dearest treasure on earth along in their course?
What mysterious tie bound him to Jane Zild? the former galley-slave to the beautiful, talented creature?
* * * * *
Twenty-one years had passed since Anselmo had witnessed the killing of Madame Danglars by her son Benedetto and the latter's flight with the treasure. Anselmo was, of course, a scoundrel, too; but his whole being rose up in anger at such inhuman cruelty, and, grasping the knife, he had threatened to kill the parricide if he did not depart at once.
Benedetto was thrown into the sea, and was rescued upon the island of Monte-Cristo.
Anselmo had remained behind, half dazed, and only little by little did he recover his senses sufficiently to think over his own situation. It was a desperate one; yet he would not have exchanged with Benedetto for any price.