“Ah, really,” said Monte Cristo in a half-stifled voice.
“Monsieur,” returned Maximilian, raising the glass cover, and respectfully kissing the silken purse, “this has touched the hand of a man who saved my father from suicide, us from ruin, and our name from shame and disgrace, — a man by whose matchless benevolence we poor children, doomed to want and wretchedness, can at present hear every one envying our happy lot. This letter” (as he spoke, Maximilian drew a letter from the purse and gave it to the count) —“this letter was written by him the day that my father had taken a desperate resolution, and this diamond was given by the generous unknown to my sister as her dowry.” Monte Cristo opened the letter, and read it with an indescribable feeling of delight. It was the letter written (as our readers know) to Julie, and signed “Sinbad the Sailor.” “Unknown you say, is the man who rendered you this service — unknown to you?”
“Yes; we have never had the happiness of pressing his hand,” continued Maximilian. “We have supplicated heaven in vain to grant us this favor, but the whole affair has had a mysterious meaning that we cannot comprehend — we have been guided by an invisible hand, — a hand as powerful as that of an enchanter.”
“Oh,” cried Julie, “I have not lost all hope of some day kissing that hand, as I now kiss the purse which he has touched. Four years ago, Penelon was at Trieste — Penelon, count, is the old sailor you saw in the garden, and who, from quartermaster, has become gardener — Penelon, when he was at Trieste, saw on the quay an Englishman, who was on the point of embarking on board a yacht, and he recognized him as the person who called on my father the fifth of June, 1829, and who wrote me this letter on the fifth of September. He felt convinced of his identity, but he did not venture to address him.”
“An Englishman,” said Monte Cristo, who grew uneasy at the attention with which Julie looked at him. “An Englishman you say?”
“Yes,” replied Maximilian, “an Englishman, who represented himself as the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French, at Rome. It was this that made me start when you said the other day, at M. de Morcerf’s, that Messrs. Thomson & French were your bankers. That happened, as I told you, in 1829. For God’s sake, tell me, did you know this Englishman?”
“But you tell me, also, that the house of Thomson & French have constantly denied having rendered you this service?”
“Yes.”
“Then is it not probable that this Englishman may be some one who, grateful for a kindness your father had shown him, and which he himself had forgotten, has taken this method of requiting the obligation?”
“Everything is possible in this affair, even a miracle.”
“What was his name?” asked Monte Cristo.
“He gave no other name,” answered Julie, looking earnestly at the count, “than that at the end of his letter — ‘Sinbad the Sailor.’”
“Which is evidently not his real name, but a fictitious one.”
Then, noticing that Julie was struck with the sound of his voice, —
“Tell me,” continued he, “was he not about my height, perhaps a little taller, with his chin imprisoned, as it were, in a high cravat; his coat closely buttoned up, and constantly taking out his pencil?”
“Oh, do you then know him?” cried Julie, whose eyes sparkled with joy.
“No,” returned Monte Cristo “I only guessed. I knew a Lord Wilmore, who was constantly doing actions of this kind.”
“Without revealing himself?”
“He was an eccentric being, and did not believe in the existence of gratitude.”
“Oh, heaven,” exclaimed Julie, clasping her hands, “in what did he believe, then?”
“He did not credit it at the period which I knew him,” said Monte Cristo, touched to the heart by the accents of Julie’s voice; “but, perhaps, since then he has had proofs that gratitude does exist.”
“And do you know this gentleman, monsieur?” inquired Emmanuel.
“Oh, if you do know him,” cried Julie, “can you tell us where he is — where we can find him? Maximilian — Emmanuel — if we do but discover him, he must believe in the gratitude of the heart!” Monte Cristo felt tears start into his eyes, and he again walked hastily up and down the room.