The attempted robbery beca the talk of the city for the next two weeks. The dying man’s signed confession nad Benedetto as the murderer. Police launched a massive manhunt.
They recovered Caderousse’s knife, his burglar’s lamp, a ring of keys, and his clothing, except for his vest, which mysteriously vanished. The items were catalogued as evidence. The corpse went to the morgue.
Monte Cristo told everyone the sa story: the break-in happened while he was at his country house. He only knew what Father Busoni told him. The priest had coincidentally asked to spend the night examining rare books in the mansion’s library and witnessed everything.
Only Bertuccio, one of Monte Cristo’s servants, turned pale whenever Benedetto’s na was ntioned. But no one paid attention to his reaction.
The prosecutor, Villefort, prepared his case with his usual intense dedication to justice.
But three weeks passed. Despite the aggressive investigation, the fugitive remained at large. The public’s attention shifted to more exciting news: the upcoming wedding between the beautiful Mademoiselle Danglars and the charming Count Andrea Cavalcanti.
The marriage seed certain. The young count visited the Danglars mansion daily as the accepted fiancé. Letters had been sent to his father in Italy, who enthusiastically approved the match. The elder Count Cavalcanti regretted that business prevented him from attending but promised a wedding gift of one hundred and fifty thousand in gold.
The agreent stated that the bride’s dowry of three million would be entrusted to Banker Danglars for investnt. So people quietly warned the young groom that Danglars had recently suffered serious financial losses. But Andrea dismissed these concerns with noble indifference, refusing to question his future father-in-law’s integrity.
The baron absolutely adored Count Andrea Cavalcanti.
His daughter Eugénie, however, did not.
She had always hated the idea of marriage. She’d only tolerated Andrea’s courtship to escape an even worse option, Albert de Morcerf. But when Andrea pushed for commitnt, she made her dislike painfully obvious. The baron probably noticed but pretended it was just a young woman’s passing mood.
anwhile, the deadline Albert’s friend Beauchamp had requested was almost up.
Albert had taken Monte Cristo’s advice to let the scandal fade naturally. No one had repeated the newspaper’s vague accusations about "the general." No one seed to connect the army officer who’d betrayed a foreign fortress years ago with the respected French nobleman who now sat in the governnt.
Still, Albert felt insulted. Those few lines had been ant as an attack, he was sure of it. And the way Beauchamp had ended their last conversation left a bitter taste. Albert secretly planned to challenge Beauchamp to a duel, hoping to keep the real reason hidden even from his seconds.
Beauchamp hadn’t been seen since that confrontation. Whenever Albert asked about him, people said he’d left town on business for several days. No one knew where.
One morning, Albert’s manservant woke him with surprising news: "Sir, Monsieur Beauchamp is here."
Albert rubbed his eyes and ordered the journalist shown to the small smoking room on the ground floor. He dressed quickly and hurried down.
He found Beauchamp pacing nervously. When Beauchamp saw him, he stopped.
"Coming here without waiting for to visit you looks good," Albert said carefully. "Tell , can I shake your hand and say, ’Beauchamp, admit you were wrong and keep my friendship’? Or must I simply ask you to choose your weapon?"
"Albert..." Beauchamp’s sorrowful expression caught the young man off guard. "Let’s sit down and talk."
"No. Before we sit, I need your answer."
"Albert," the journalist said heavily, "these aren’t simple yes-or-no questions. We’re talking about the honor, reputation, and life of a decorated general, a governnt official, the Count of Morcerf."
"Then what must be done?"
"What I’ve done, Albert. I thought about this carefully. Money, ti, exhaustion, none of that matters compared to a family’s reputation. Guesses and rumors aren’t enough to justify a deadly duel with a friend. If I’m going to point a sword or gun at soone I’ve known for three years, I need to know why. I need a clear conscience and a calm heart."
"What are you saying?" Albert asked impatiently.
"I’m saying... I just returned from overseas. From the city where it all happened."
"From where?"
"From Yanina. The city in Greece."
Albert’s face went white. "Impossible."
"Here’s my passport. Check the entry stamps, Switzerland, Italy, Greece... even the Ottoman territories. Will you believe the official stamps of three different governnts?"
Albert examined the passport, then looked up at Beauchamp in shock. "You actually went there?"
"Albert, if you were a stranger, so foreign aristocrat like that English lord who demanded satisfaction a few months ago, whom I killed in a duel to be done with it, I wouldn’t have bothered. But I thought I owed you this consideration. A week to travel there, another to return, four days in quarantine, and two days investigating. Three weeks total. I got back last night, and here I am."
"Stop dancing around it! Just tell what you found!"
"Because, truthfully, Albert..."
"You’re hesitating?"
"Yes. I’m afraid."
"Afraid to admit your source lied to you? Co on, Beauchamp, forget your ego. Admit it. No one doubts your courage."
"It’s not that," the journalist murmured. "It’s the opposite..."
Albert’s face drained of all color. He tried to speak, but no words ca.
"My friend," Beauchamp said in the gentlest tone possible, "I’d love to apologize. But I can’t..."
"Why not?"
"The newspaper article was correct."
"What? That French officer-"
"Yes."
"Nad Fernand?"
"Yes."
"The traitor who surrendered the fortress while in the service of-"
"Stop." Beauchamp caught Albert’s arm as he lunged forward. His mild expression restrained Albert more than physical force could. "That man was your father."
Albert froze.
"My friend," Beauchamp said softly, "here’s the proof."
He handed over a docunt.
Albert unfolded it with shaking hands. It was a sworn statent from four prominent citizens of Yanina, confirming that Colonel Fernand Mondego, while serving the local military governor, had betrayed the fortress in exchange for two million in gold. The signatures were officially notarized.
Albert swayed and collapsed into a chair. There could be no doubt now, the family na appeared in full. After a mont of crushing silence, his heart finally broke. He buried his face in his hands and wept.
Beauchamp watched his friend’s agony with genuine sympathy. Finally, he approached.
"Now do you understand, Albert? I had to see everything myself. I had to judge the evidence personally. I was hoping desperately to find sothing that would clear your father’s na so I could defend him. But instead, the evidence proved that Fernand Mondego, who rose to the rank of governor-general under the foreign military leader, is indeed Count Fernand of Morcerf. When I realized this, rembering the friendship you’d shown , I rushed back to tell you myself."
Albert remained slumped in the chair, hands covering his face as if blocking out reality itself.
"I rushed back," Beauchamp continued gently, "to tell you that in our modern age, a father’s mistakes don’t have to destroy his children. Many people who lived through that revolutionary period have so stain on their record, soldiers and judges alike. Now that I have this evidence, Albert, and now that I’ve shared it with you in confidence, no power on earth can force into a duel that your own conscience would know is wrong. But I’m here to offer what you can no longer demand from . Do you want to destroy these proofs? Should this terrible secret remain between us alone? I’ll never speak of it. Tell , Albert, what do you want?"
Albert threw his arms around Beauchamp’s neck. "You’re incredible!"
"Take these." Beauchamp held out the docunts.
Albert seized them with trembling hands and ripped them to shreds. Terrified that even the smallest piece might sohow survive and surface later to destroy him, he staggered to the lamp they kept burning for lighting cigars. He held each fragnt to the fla and watched it burn.
"Thank you," Albert whispered, still feeding paper to the fire. "Thank you, my dear friend."
"Let it all be forgotten like a bad dream," Beauchamp said. "Let it vanish like those last sparks, disappearing like smoke from silent ash."
"Yes," Albert agreed. "And let only our eternal friendship remain, the friendship I promise to my savior, which I’ll pass to my children and grandchildren. It will always remind that I owe you my life and my family’s honor. Because if this had beco public... Beauchamp, I would have killed myself. Or no, I couldn’t do that to my poor mother. I would have had to flee the country forever."
"Dear Albert," Beauchamp said warmly.
But the artificial joy faded quickly from Albert’s face, replaced by even deeper grief.
"What’s wrong now, my friend?" Beauchamp asked.
"My heart is shattered," Albert said. "Listen, Beauchamp, I can’t just instantly give up the respect, the trust, the pride that cos from having an honorable father. How can I face him now? Should I pull away when he tries to embrace ? Should I refuse to shake his hand? I’m the most miserable man alive. Oh, my mother!" He stared at her portrait through his tears. "If you knew about this, how much you must be suffering!"
"Co," Beauchamp said, taking both his hands. "You need courage."
"But who put that first article in your newspaper? So unknown enemy did this, so invisible opponent."
"All the more reason to strengthen yourself, Albert. Show nothing on your face. Carry your grief like a storm cloud carries death inside it, a fatal secret only revealed when lightning strikes. Go, my friend. Save your strength for when the real crash cos."
"You think it’s not over?" Albert’s eyes widened in horror.
"I think anything is possible. By the way..." Beauchamp hesitated.
"What?" Albert noticed the pause.
"Are you still planning to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?"
"Why ask that now?"
"Because whether that engagent continues or ends is connected to everything we’ve been discussing."
"What?" Albert’s face flushed. "You think Banker Danglars-"
"I’m only asking about your engagent. Please don’t read anything into my question. Don’t give it more weight than intended."
"The engagent is broken," Albert said flatly.
"I see." Beauchamp nodded. Then, seeing his friend about to sink back into depression, he said quickly, "Let’s go out, Albert. A ride through the woods, maybe in the carriage or on horseback, will refresh you. Then we’ll co back for breakfast. You can handle your business, and I’ll handle mine."
"Alright," Albert agreed. "But let’s walk. I think the exercise would do good."
The two friends left the mansion and walked toward the old fortress area. When they reached the Madeleine district, Beauchamp had an idea.
"Since we’re out," he said, "let’s visit Monsieur de Monte Cristo. He’s perfect for lifting spirits because he never asks intrusive questions. In my experience, people who don’t pry make the best comforters."
"Good idea," Albert said. "I care about him, let’s go."
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