“M. Leon d’Armilly, twenty years of age; profession, artist; hair black, eyes black; travelling with his sister.”
“Capital! How did you get this passport?”
“When I went to ask M. de Monte Cristo for letters to the directors of the theatres at Rome and Naples, I expressed my fears of travelling as a woman; he perfectly understood them, and undertook to procure for me a man’s passport, and two days after I received this, to which I have added with my own hand, ‘travelling with his sister.’”
“Well,” said Eugenie cheerfully, “we have then only to pack up our trunks; we shall start the evening of the signing of the contract, instead of the evening of the wedding — that is all.”
“But consider the matter seriously, Eugenie!”
“Oh, I am done with considering! I am tired of hearing only of market reports, of the end of the month, of the rise and fall of Spanish funds, of Haitian bonds. Instead of that, Louise — do you understand? — air, liberty, melody of birds, plains of Lombardy, Venetian canals, Roman palaces, the Bay of Naples. How much have we, Louise?” The young girl to whom this question was addressed drew from an inlaid secretary a small portfolio with a lock, in which she counted twenty-three bank-notes.
“Twenty-three thousand francs,” I said she.
“And as much, at least, in pearls, diamonds, and jewels,” said Eugenie. “We are rich. With forty-five thousand francs we can live like princesses for two years, and comfortably for four; but before six months — you with your music, and I with my voice — we shall double our capital. Come, you shall take charge of the money, I of the jewel-box; so that if one of us had the misfortune to lose her treasure, the other would still have hers left. Now, the portmanteau — let us make haste — the portmanteau!”
“Stop!” said Louise, going to listen at Madame Danglars’ door.
“What do you fear?”
“That we may be discovered.”
“The door is locked.”
“They may tell us to open it.”
“They may if they like, but we will not.”
“You are a perfect Amazon, Eugenie!” And the two young girls began to heap into a trunk all the things they thought they should require. “There now,” said Eugenie, “while I change my costume do you lock the portmanteau.” Louise pressed with all the strength of her little hands on the top of the portmanteau. “But I cannot,” said she; “I am not strong enough; do you shut it.”
“Ah, you do well to ask,” said Eugenie, laughing; “I forgot that I was Hercules, and you only the pale Omphale!” And the young girl, kneeling on the top, pressed the two parts of the portmanteau together, and Mademoiselle d’Armilly passed the bolt of the padlock through. When this was done, Eugenie opened a drawer, of which she kept the key, and took from it a wadded violet silk travelling cloak. “Here,” said she, “you see I have thought of everything; with this cloak you will not be cold.”
“But you?”
“Oh, I am never cold, you know! Besides, with these men’s clothes” —
“Will you dress here?”
“Certainly.”
“Shall you have time?”
“Do not be uneasy, you little coward! All our servants are busy, discussing the grand affair. Besides, what is there astonishing, when you think of the grief I ought to be in, that I shut myself up? — tell me!”
“No, truly — you comfort me.”
“Come and help me.”
From the same drawer she took a man’s complete costume, from the boots to the coat, and a provision of linen, where there was nothing superfluous, but every requisite. Then, with a promptitude which indicated that this was not the first time she had amused herself by adopting the garb of the opposite sex, Eugenie drew on the boots and pantaloons, tied her cravat, buttoned her waistcoat up to the throat, and put on a coat which admirably fitted her beautiful figure. “Oh, that is very good — indeed, it is very good!” said Louise, looking at her with admiration; “but that beautiful black hair, those magnificent braids, which made all the ladies sigh with envy, — will they go under a man’s hat like the one I see down there?”