_ We awake from every sleep except the one dreaded by
Danglars. He awoke. To a Parisian accustomed to silken
curtains, walls hung with velvet drapery, and the soft
perfume of burning wood, the white smoke of which diffuses
itself in graceful curves around the room, the appearance of
the whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on awakening
seemed like the continuation of some disagreeable dream. But
in such a situation a single moment suffices to change the
strongest doubt into certainty. "Yes, yes," he murmured, "I
am in the hands of the brigands of whom Albert de Morcerf
spoke." His first idea was to breathe, that he might know
whether he was wounded. He borrowed this from "Don Quixote,"
the only book he had ever read, but which he still slightly
remembered.
"No," he cried, "they have not wounded, but perhaps they
have robbed me!" and he thrust his hands into his pockets.
They were untouched; the hundred louis he had reserved for
his journey from Rome to Venice were in his trousers pocket,
and in that of his great-coat he found the little note-case
containing his letter of credit for 5,050,000 francs.
"Singular bandits!" he exclaimed; "they have left me my
purse and pocket-book. As I was saying last night, they
intend me to be ransomed. Hallo, here is my watch! Let me
see what time it is." Danglars' watch, one of Breguet's
repeaters, which he had carefully wound up on the previous
night, struck half past five. Without this, Danglars would
have been quite ignorant of the time, for daylight did not
reach his cell. Should he demand an explanation from the
bandits, or should he wait patiently for them to propose it?
The last alternative seemed the most prudent, so he waited
until twelve o'clock. During all this time a sentinel, who
had been relieved at eight o'clock, had been watching his
door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to see the
person who kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few
rays, not of daylight, but from a lamp, penetrated through
the ill-joined planks of the door; he approached just as the
brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful of brandy,
which, owing to the leathern bottle containing it, sent
forth an odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars.
"Faugh!" he exclaimed, retreating to the farther corner of
his cell.
At twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and
Danglars, wishing to catch sight of his new guardian,
approached the door again. He was an athletic, gigantic
bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and a flat nose; his
red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around his
shoulders. "Ah, ha," cried Danglars, "this fellow is more
like an ogre than anything else; however, I am rather too
old and tough to be very good eating!" We see that Danglars
was collected enough to jest; at the same time, as though to
disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took some black
bread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began
devouring voraciously. "May I be hanged," said Danglars,
glancing at the bandit's dinner through the crevices of the
door, -- "may I be hanged if I can understand how people can
eat such filth!" and he withdrew to seat himself upon his
goat-skin, which reminded him of the smell of the brandy.
But the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there
are certain invitations contained in even the coarsest food
which appeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach.
Danglars felt his own not to be very well supplied just
then, and gradually the man appeared less ugly, the bread
less black, and the cheese more fresh, while those dreadful
vulgar onions recalled to his mind certain sauces and
side-dishes, which his cook prepared in a very superior
manner whenever he said, "Monsieur Deniseau, let me have a
nice little fricassee to-day." He got up and knocked on the
door; the bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was
heard, so he redoubled his blows. "Che cosa?" asked the
bandit. "Come, come," said Danglars, tapping his fingers
against the door, "I think it is quite time to think of
giving me something to eat!" But whether he did not
understand him, or whether he had received no orders
respecting the nourishment of Danglars, the giant, without
answering, went on with his dinner. Danglars' feelings were
hurt, and not wishing to put himself under obligations to
the brute, the banker threw himself down again on his
goat-skin and did not breathe another word.
Four hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another
bandit. Danglars, who really began to experience sundry
gnawings at the stomach, arose softly, again applied his eye
to the crack of the door, and recognized the intelligent
countenance of his guide. It was, indeed, Peppino who was
preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by
seating himself opposite to the door, and placing between
his legs an earthen pan, containing chick-pease stewed with
bacon. Near the pan he also placed a pretty little basket of
Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto. Peppino was
decidedly an epicure. Danglars watched these preparations
and his mouth watered. "Come," he said to himself, "let me
try if he will be more tractable than the other;" and he
tapped gently at the door. "On y va," (coming) exclaimed
Peppino, who from frequenting the house of Signor Pastrini
understood French perfectly in all its idioms.
Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had
called out in such a furious manner, "Put in your head!" But
this was not the time for recrimination, so he assumed his
most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile, --
"Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me any
dinner?"
"Does your excellency happen to be hungry?"
"Happen to be hungry, -- that's pretty good, when I haven't
eaten for twenty-four hours!" muttered Danglars. Then he
added aloud, "Yes, sir, I am hungry -- very hungry."
"What would your excellency like?" and Peppino placed his
pan on the ground, so that the steam rose directly under the
nostrils of Danglars. "Give your orders."
"Have you kitchens here?"
"Kitchens? -- of course -- complete ones."
"And cooks?"
"Excellent!"
"Well, a fowl, fish, game, -- it signifies little, so that I
eat."
"As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?"
"Yes, a fowl." Peppino, turning around, shouted, "A fowl for
his excellency!" His voice yet echoed in the archway when a
handsome, graceful, and half-naked young man appeared,
bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his head, without the
assistance of his hands. "I could almost believe myself at
the Cafe de Paris," murmured Danglars.
"Here, your excellency," said Peppino, taking the fowl from
the young bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table,
which with the stool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire
furniture of the cell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork.
"Here, excellency," said Peppino, offering him a little
blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in
one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up
the fowl. "Pardon me, excellency," said Peppino, placing his
hand on the banker's shoulder; "people pay here before they
eat. They might not be satisfied, and" --
"Ah, ha," thought Danglars, "this is not so much like Paris,
except that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll
fix that all right. I have always heard how cheap poultry is
in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous
at Rome. -- There," he said, throwing a louis down. Peppino
picked up the louis, and Danglars again prepared to carve
the fowl. "Stay a moment, your excellency," said Peppino,
rising; "you still owe me something."
"I said they would skin me," thought Danglars; but resolving
to resist the extortion, he said, "Come, how much do I owe
you for this fowl?"
"Your excellency has given me a louis on account."
"A louis on account for a fowl?"
"Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis."
Danglars opened his enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic
joke. "Come, come, this is very droll -- very amusing -- I
allow; but, as I am very hungry, pray allow me to eat. Stay,
here is another louis for you."
"Then that will make only 4,998 louis more," said Peppino
with the same indifference. "I shall get them all in time."
"Oh, as for that," said Danglars, angry at this prolongation
of the jest, -- "as for that you won't get them at all. Go
to the devil! You do not know with whom you have to deal!"
Peppino made a sign, and the youth hastily removed the fowl.
Danglars threw himself upon his goat-skin, and Peppino,
reclosing the door, again began eating his pease and bacon.
Though Danglars could not see Peppino, the noise of his
teeth allowed no doubt as to his occupation. He was
certainly eating, and noisily too, like an ill-bred man.
"Brute!" said Danglars. Peppino pretended not to hear him,
and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly.
Danglars' stomach felt so empty, that it seemed as if it
would be impossible ever to fill it again; still he had
patience for another half-hour, which appeared to him like a
century. He again arose and went to the door. "Come, sir, do
not keep me starving here any longer, but tell me what they
want."
"Nay, your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you
want. Give your orders, and we will execute them."
"Then open the door directly." Peppino obeyed. "Now look
here, I want something to eat! To eat -- do you hear?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Come, you understand me."
"What would your excellency like to eat?"
"A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price
in this accursed place."
"Bread? Very well. Hallo, there, some bread!" he called. The
youth brought a small loaf. "How much?" asked Danglars.
"Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis," said
Peppino; "You have paid two louis in advance."
"What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?"
"One hundred thousand francs," repeated Peppino.
"But you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!"
"We have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies
nothing whether you eat much or little -- whether you have
ten dishes or one -- it is always the same price."
"What, still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it
is perfectly ridiculous -- stupid! You had better tell me at
once that you intend starving me to death."
"Oh, dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit
suicide. Pay and eat."
"And what am I to pay with, brute?" said Danglars, enraged.
"Do you suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?"
"Your excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that
will be fifty fowls at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a
fowl for the 50,000."
Danglars shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyes, and he
understood the joke, which he did not think quite so stupid
as he had done just before. "Come," he said, "if I pay you
the 100,000 francs, will you be satisfied, and allow me to
eat at my ease?"
"Certainly," said Peppino.
"But how can I pay them?"
"Oh, nothing easier; you have an account open with Messrs.
Thomson & French, Via dei Banchi, Rome; give me a draft for
4,998 louis on these gentlemen, and our banker shall take
it." Danglars thought it as well to comply with a good
grace, so he took the pen, ink, and paper Peppino offered
him, wrote the draft, and signed it. "Here," he said, "here
is a draft at sight."
"And here is your fowl." Danglars sighed while he carved the
fowl; it appeared very thin for the price it had cost. As
for Peppino, he examined the paper attentively, put it into
his pocket, and continued eating his pease. _