World Literature Classics Library: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 190 Tangla's Signature (1)
The next morning was cloudy and desolate.

The funeral home staff helped with the funeral overnight and sewed a shroud on the body on the bed.The dead are all covered with a shroud, and they all look so bleak and sad, that people say that before death all men are equal, and yet the shroud is the last evidence of a certain luxury that the dead loved while alive.The shroud for Valentine was a piece of linen which the girl had bought a fortnight before.Yesterday evening, when the undertaker helped to carry Noirquier from Valentine's room to his own room, no one expected that the old man did not have any obstacles and let everyone take him from his granddaughter. carry away.Elder Buzzoni kept watch until dawn, and he didn't say hello to anyone when he left early in the morning.

About eight o'clock in the morning, Avrini came to the mansion again, met Villefort who was going to Noirquier's room, and went with him to see how the old man had been the night before.They saw the old man sleeping soundly in a large armchair that served as a bed, almost with a smile on his face.Both of them couldn't help being surprised, and stopped at the door of the room.

"You see," said Avrini, while Villefort was also looking at his sleeping father, "you see, nature can soothe the pain. Of course, no one will say that M. Noirquier is not loving." Granddaughter, but he really fell asleep."

"Yes, you are right," said Villefort in amazement. "It is strange that he falls asleep, for he usually stays up all night when he is a little unhappy."

"The pain overwhelmed him," Affini said.

The two walked while thinking about their thoughts, and went upstairs into the prosecutor's study.

"You see, I have not slept," said Villefort to Affini, pointing to his untouched bed; "the pain has not overwhelmed me; I have not slept for two whole nights, But look at my desk again and see how much I have written, my God! Two days and two nights of writing! Look at the files I have read, look at my amended charges against the murderer Benedetto The indictment! Oh! Work, work! Work is my passion, my joy, my madness. Work, it is you who have crushed my grief and grief," he held Alfred convulsively. Rini's hand.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked the doctor.

"No," said Villefort, "only I would like to ask you to come again at eleven o'clock, because at twelve o'clock I must send off... My God! Send off my poor boy! Oh! my poor boy." Child!" At this moment, the hard-hearted prosecutor turned around, raised his eyes to the sky, and let out a long sigh.

"Are you in the living room then?"

"I won't go. I hired a cousin for the funeral. It's better for me to concentrate on my work. Doctor, once I start working, I forget everything."

Sure enough, before the doctor reached the door of the study, the prosecutor started working again.Avrini met on the steps of the building the relative whom Villefort had just mentioned, an insignificant figure, a kind of life, both in the story of this book and in Villefort's family. Just a nosy character.He was punctual and wore a black suit with a black veil wrapped around his arm.He came to his cousin with a mournful face, and as long as the matter was not finished, he knew that he would have to wear this face, and once the matter was finished, it would be another face.

At 11 o'clock, the funeral carriages drove into the courtyard paved with ashlar, and the Rue Saint-Honoré was buzzing and crowded with onlookers.Whatever festivities or funerals are held by rich people will always attract a large group of people who are interested in watching the fun.Whenever there is some extravagant funeral, spectators flock to it, as excited as if they came to watch a rich lady get married.The living room was gradually filled with condolence guests. First of all, we had already known those who came, including Debray, Chateau-Renaud, and Beauchamp, and then successively came celebrities from the judicial, literary, and military circles. By virtue of his social position, and above all his personal reputation, Mr. Foux was a celebrity of the first rank in Parisian society.The cousin stood at the door to greet the guests, which was a relief to those who were just playing the game, because seeing that playful face was like seeing the face of the dead man's father, brother, or fiancé. It's different now, you don't have to pretend to be sad, and you don't have to cry a few fake tears.People who knew each other greeted each other with their eyes, and then they gathered in a circle, Debray, Chateau-Renaud, and Beauchamp.

"Poor girl!" said Debray, who, like everyone else, had to say a few words about the sad event, "poor girl! So rich, and so beautiful! Such a tragedy, oh, Chateau." —Leno, how many days is that? Three weeks, at most a month, and we also participated in the signing ceremony of the marriage contract that was not signed at the end, did you think of it at that time? "

"I really didn't think of it." Chateau-Leno said.

"Do you know her well?"

"Talked to Mrs. Mocerf once or twice at her ball, and I found her very charming, if a little sentimental. Where is her stepmother? Do you know?"

"She has to spend the whole day with the wife of the honorable gentleman who received us."

"What kind of person is this?"

"Who?"

"Is the gentleman who received us a member of parliament?"

"No," Beauchamp said, "I see these big men every day, but I don't know his face."

"Did you write about the dead man in your paper?"

"It has been published, but the manuscript was not written by me. I am even afraid that M. de Villefort will not be happy to read it. I remember that the manuscript said that if it were not in the prosecutor's house, but somewhere else, four people died in succession. , the prosecutor may be more attentive."

"However," said Chateau-Renoir, "Dr. Avrini also saw my mother, and he said that the prosecutor was very hopeless."

"Who are you looking for, Debray?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo," replied Debray.

"I met him on the boulevard when I came, and I think he just went out and was going to his banker," said Beauchamp.

"To his banker? Isn't his banker M. Tangra?" Chateau-Renoir asked Debray.

"I suppose so," said the young man who was the minister's private secretary, with some embarrassment; "but M. Monte Cristo was not the only one who did not come, and I did not see Morrel."

"Morrel! Does he know the family?" asked Chateau-Renoir.

"I remember that he knew Madame de Villefort only by introduction."

"What does that matter? He should come," said Debray. "What has he got to talk about to-night? There's nothing more to-day than the funeral. Oh, shh, don't Speak, here comes Mr. Minister of Justice and Religion, who must feel obliged to make a little speech to that mournful cousin." So the three young men gathered at the door to hear the justice and religion. That little speech from Mr. Minister of Religion.

What Beauchamp just said was true. He did meet Monte Cristo on the way he was invited to attend the funeral, and the count did indeed drive in the direction of the Tangra mansion on the Rue d'Antin.The banker, seeing from his window the count's carriage driving into the vestibule, came out to greet his guest with a sad, but friendly attitude.

"Oh, count," said he, holding out his hand to Monte Cristo, "you have come to express your condolences! To tell the truth, there has been a tragic accident in our house, so when I saw you coming just now, I asked myself, Is this why I cursed poor Mercer's misfortune on purpose? That's the old adage, 'Woe to the one who curses'. Oh! On my honor, no, I didn't curse the Mercer. He may be a little domineering, for he is a man who, like me, is self-made, and, like me, has made it all on his own. But everyone has faults. Oh, don't let your guard down, count. , people of our generation... But please forgive me, you are not one of our generation, you are still young,... Our generation is having a hard time this year, our self-contained prosecutor, this Villefort did not even have a daughter, and this is an example. Let us reckon in retrospect, Villefort, as I have just said, that the family was ruined for no reason, that Mocerf, discredited, committed suicide, and I, this Bennet I was ridiculed for Daido's despicable behavior, and..."

"And what?" asked the count.

"Hey! So you really don't know?"

"Did you encounter any misfortune again?"

"My daughter..."

"What's wrong with Miss Tangla?"

"Eugénie has run away from home."

"Oh! my God! what are you talking about?"

"Indeed, my dear count. My God! you are very happy without a wife and children."

"is it?"

"Ah! my God!"

"You said Miss Eugenie..."

"She couldn't bear the shame that shameless person caused us, and begged me to allow her to travel."

"Is she gone?"

"Just left that night."

"Did you go with Mrs. Tanglar?"

"No, with a relation. But, dear Eugenie, we shall never see her again. I know her temper, and I am afraid that she will return to France!"

"What can you do, my dear Baron?" said Monte Cristo, "these are the sorrows of the family, and it is a catastrophe for a poor man who has nothing but children, but for a millionaire After all, it is bearable for a rich man. Philosophers waste their words, and utilitarians can refute them with a single sentence: In many things, money is a consolation. And you, if you think that money is a consolation It is indeed a panacea, then you must be comforted faster than anyone else, because you are a dignified financial king and the center of various powers."

Tangra glanced sideways at the count, trying to figure out whether the count was sarcasm or serious. "Yes," said he, "if riches were a consolation, I would be soothed, for I am rich."

"Extremely rich, my dear baron, your property is just like the pyramids. Even if people want to tear it down, they may not have the courage. Even if they have the courage, they may not have the energy."

Seeing the earl's credulity without a city chest, Tangra couldn't help smiling. "I just remembered," he said, "I had five little coupons to sign when you came in, and two of them have already been signed; allow me to sign the remaining three as well." Did you sign it?"

"Please, my dear Baron, please."

For a moment there was silence in the room, save for the rustle of the banker's quills, while Monte Cristo looked up at the gilt moldings on the ceiling.

"Spanish bonds?" asked Monte Cristo, "Haitian bonds, or Neapolitan bonds?"

"No," said Tangra, laughing conceitedly as usual, "cheques payable at sight, all from the Banque de France. You see," he went on, "Monsieur Count, financially we If you are the king, then you are the emperor, have you seen many small pieces of paper like this one with a face value of 100 million?"

Tangra passed the five slips of paper to Monte Cristo with great vigor, and Monte Cristo took the slips of paper as if he was about to weigh them, and read:

Mr. Tai Jian, director of the Bank of France:
Upon sight of the bill, 100 yuan will be cashed from the name of my deposit.

Baron Tanglar

"One, two, three, four, five," said Monte Cristo, "five millions! Good man! With the stroke of your pen, you are like the king of Lydia in Asia Minor. The last king (before 500-before 561), was extremely rich. Now!"

"That's how I handle business," Tangla said.

"Excellent, and, I have no doubt, it was cash payment?"

"Yes, cash payment." Tangla said.

"It's beautiful to have such a reputation. To be honest, you can only see this kind of thing in France: five small pieces of paper are worth a total of 500 million. This kind of thing has to be seen to be believed."

"You suspect it is true?"

"Do not."

(End of this chapter)