“That is true. Only think that perhaps this poor young man is pining in despair.”
Villefort shuddered at this picture of the prisoner cursing him in silence and obscurity, but he was too far gone to recede; Dantès must be crushed beneath the weight of Villefort’s ambition.
“I am waiting,” said Morrel, pen in hand.
Villefort dictated a petition, in which, from an excellent intention, no doubt, Dantès’ services to the Bonapartists were exaggerated, and he was made out one of the most active agents of Napoleon’s return. It was evident that at the sight of this document the minister would instantly release him. The petition finished, Villefort read it aloud.
“That will do,” said he; “leave the rest to me.”
“Will the petition go soon?”
“To-day.”
“Countersigned by you?”
“The best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the contents of your petition.”
And, sitting down, Villefort wrote the certificate at the bottom.
“What more is to be done?”
“I will answer for everything.”
This assurance charmed Morrel, who took leave of Villefort, and hastened to announce to old Dantès that he would soon see his son.
As for Villefort, instead of sending to Paris, he carefully preserved the petition that so fearfully compromised Dantès, in the case of an event that seemed not unlikely, that is, a second restoration. Dantès remained a prisoner, and heard not the noise of the fall of Louis XVIII.’s throne, nor the more terrible collapse of the Empire.
Twice during the brief imperial apparition which is called the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand, and twice had Villefort soothed him with promises. At last there was Waterloo, and Morrel came no more: he had done all that was in his power, and any fresh attempt under the second restoration would only compromise himself uselessly.
Louis XVIII. remounted the throne, Villefort demanded and obtained the situation of king’s procureur at Toulouse, and a fortnight afterward married Renée, whose father was more influential at court than ever.
Thus Dantès, during the Hundred Days and after Waterloo, remained under bolt and bar, forgotten by God and man.
Danglars comprehended the full extent of the wretched fate that overwhelmed Dantès, and, like all men of small abilities, he termed this a decree of Providence. But when Napoleon returned to the imperial throne in Paris, Danglars’ heart failed him, and he feared at every
