We will now disclose the secret tie between this man and Jane Zeld. Fifteen years before, the convict Sanselme had witnessed a terrible scene in a cottage at Beausset, a village between Toulon and Marseilles. A son had killed his mother, and then departed, carrying with him a large sum of money. Bad as was Sanselme, he shuddered at this terrible crime. He had aided in Benedetto's escape with the hope of receiving part of the money, but he repulsed the blood-stained hand that offered it.
"Be off with you or I will kill you!" he cried, and Benedetto fled. Our readers will remember how he was finally thrown up by the sea on the island of Monte-Cristo.
Sanselme remained alone with the corpse. The sun rose, and finally a ray crept over the face of the dead woman. Sanselme started. Perhaps she is not dead after all. He stooped and lifted her from the floor. Should he call for assistance? To do so was to deliver himself up as an escaped convict. And this was not all. He would be suspected of the murder. He would be led not to the galleys but to the scaffold.
"It would be useless for me to make any denial."
Still his humanity was large enough to induce him to run the risk, and he would probably have called for assistance had he not at that moment heard the sound of wheels. It was the priest returning home. Sanselme breathed a sigh of relief. Now he would have the aid he required. He would wait until the priest came up. The outer door stood wide open. It was through this door that Benedetto had fled. Sanselme heard the priest utter an exclamation of surprise, and then he went to his servant's door, and knowing her deafness knocked and called loudly to her to awake. This was Sanselme's salvation. He leaned from the window and caught a branch from the tree by which Benedetto had clambered to the upper room. This done, it was easy for Sanselme then to drop to the ground. He ran around the house instantly. He was saved. He hastily decided that Benedetto had taken the shortest road to the sea, and that he himself would try to get out of France by the eastern frontier.
We will not dwell on all he endured. But a month later, Sanselme, completely changed in appearance, entered Switzerland, going thence to Germany. Intelligent and active, he had no difficulty in obtaining employment. And Benedetto's crime seemed to have had a marvelous effect upon him. He seemed resolved upon repentance. For ten years, utilizing his acquaintance with foreign languages, Maslenes—he had taken this name—lived quietly in Munich. Not the smallest indiscretion on his part attracted the attention of the police. He was almost happy with these children about him, his pupils; but he was alone in his so-called home, and all at once a great longing came over him to see France once more. He was well aware that it would be a great imprudence on his part to return to his native land; he might be recognized, or some chance might reveal his past.
Nevertheless, he went. Ten years had elapsed since he crossed the frontier. He went first to Lyons, not daring to attempt Paris, although he chose a large city, believing that there he would incur less risk of being recognized. He had saved some money, and thought he could teach again. He had not been six months in Lyons before he was known as the good Monsieur Maslenes, and was liked by every one. He led the most regular life that could be imagined, and no one would have suspected that this stout, placid-looking person could be an escaped convict. He fully intended to live and die thus in obscurity, and really enjoyed the torpor of this existence. In the evening he took long walks, and from motives of prudence went out but little by daylight. Alone in the darkness, he often felt intense remorse, and remorse is not a pleasing companion.
One winter's night—the snow had been falling all day—Sanselme stayed out later than usual. The cold was sharp and there was no moon. Suddenly he heard an angry discussion across the street. Coarse voices and then a woman's tone of appeal. Sanselme did not linger, he had made it a rule never to interfere in quarrels. He feared any complication which should compromise him. But as he hurried on, he heard a wild cry for help.
"Oh! leave my child!" the woman cried. "Help! Help!"