"Mother, yesterday I enlisted as a substitute soldier in the Spahis," Albert continued, lowering his eyes with a hint of sha, though he was unconscious of how noble his self-sacrifice truly was. "I thought my body belonged to and that I could sell it. Yesterday I took another man’s place in the military. I sold myself for more than I thought I was worth," he added, attempting to smile. "I received two thousand francs."
"Then this thousand francs-" rcédès said, shuddering.
"Is half the sum, Mother. The other half will be paid in a year."
rcédès raised her eyes to heaven with an indescribable expression. The tears she’d been holding back finally yielded to her emotion and stread down her cheeks.
"The price of his blood!" she murmured.
"Yes, if I’m killed," Albert said, laughing. "But I assure you, Mother, I have every intention of defending myself. I’ve never felt such a strong desire to live as I do now."
"rciful heavens!"
"Besides, Mother, why assu I’ll be killed? Was Lamoricière killed, that legendary general of the South? Was Changarnier killed? Was Bedeau killed? Was Morrel, whom we know personally, killed? Think of your joy, Mother, when you see return in an embroidered uniform! Honestly, I expect to look magnificent in it. I chose that regint partly out of vanity."
rcédès sighed while trying to smile. The devoted mother knew she shouldn’t let her son bear the entire weight of their sacrifice alone.
"Well, now you understand, Mother!" Albert continued. "We have more than four thousand francs secured for you. You can live on that for at least two years."
"Do you really think so?" rcédès asked.
Her words ca out so mournful that their real aning didn’t escape Albert. His heart clenched, and taking his mother’s hand in his own, he said tenderly, "Yes, you will live."
"I’ll live? Then you won’t leave , Albert?"
"Mother, I must go," Albert said in a firm, calm voice. "You love too much to want to remain useless and idle with you. Besides, I’ve already signed the papers."
"You’ll follow your own will and heaven’s plan."
"Not my own will, Mother, reason. Necessity. Aren’t we two desperate people? What is life to you? Nothing. What is life to ? Very little without you, Mother. Believe , if it weren’t for you, I would have stopped living the day I doubted my father and gave up his na. But I will live if you promise to keep hoping. If you entrust with caring for your future, you’ll double my strength."
He continued passionately, "I’ll go to the governor of Algeria. He has a generous heart and is a true soldier. I’ll tell him my story. I’ll ask him to watch over occasionally. If he keeps his word and takes an interest in , in six months I’ll either be an officer or dead. If I’m an officer, your fortune is secure, I’ll have enough money for both of us, plus a na we’ll both be proud of since it will truly be our own. If I’m killed... well, Mother, you can die too, and our misfortunes will be over."
"You’re right, my love," rcédès said with an eloquent look. "Let’s prove to everyone watching that we’re worthy of compassion."
"But let’s not give in to despair," the young man said. "I promise you, we are, or rather, we will be, very happy. You’re a woman full of both spirit and resilience. I’ve beco simple in my needs and free of passion, I hope. Once I’m in service, I’ll be successful. Once you’re in Monsieur Dantès’ house, you’ll be at peace. Let’s try to be cheerful."
"Yes, let’s try, because you deserve to live and be happy, Albert."
"So our plan is set, Mother," the young man said, forcing an easy tone. "We can separate now. Co, I’ll arrange your passage."
"And you, my dear boy?"
"I’ll stay here a few more days. We need to get used to being apart. I need letters of recomndation and information about Africa. I’ll et you in Marseilles."
"Very well. Let’s part then," rcédès said, folding around her shoulders the only shawl she’d taken with her, which happened to be a valuable black cashre.
Albert quickly gathered his papers and rang the bell to pay the thirty francs they owed the landlord. Offering his arm to his mother, they descended the stairs together.
Soone was walking down the stairs ahead of them. Hearing the rustle of a silk dress, the person turned around.
"Debray!" Albert muttered under his breath.
"You, Morcerf?" the secretary replied, stopping on the stairs.
Curiosity had overco his desire to remain anonymous, and now he’d been recognized. It was strange indeed to find in this unknown place the young man whose misfortunes had made such noise throughout Paris.
"Morcerf!" Debray repeated. Then, noticing in the dim light the still-youthful, veiled figure of Mada de Morcerf, he added with a smile, "Pardon . I’ll leave you, Albert."
Albert understood what he was thinking. "Mother," he said, turning to rcédès, "this is Monsieur Debray, secretary to the Minister of the Interior. He was once a friend of mine."
"Was once?" Debray stamred. "What do you an?"
"I say ’was,’ Monsieur Debray, because I have no friends now, and I shouldn’t have any. But I thank you for recognizing , sir."
Debray stepped forward and warmly pressed Albert’s hand. "Believe , dear Albert," he said with all the emotion he was capable of feeling, "I’m deeply sorry about your misfortunes. If there’s any way I can help you, I’m at your service."
"Thank you, sir," Albert said with a slight smile. "In the midst of our troubles, we’re still wealthy enough not to need anyone’s help. We’re leaving Paris, and after we pay for our journey, we’ll still have five thousand francs left."
Blood rushed to Debray’s face. He had a million francs in his wallet, and even though he wasn’t particularly imaginative, he couldn’t help but reflect: the sa house had contained two won. One, justly dishonored, had left poor with one and a half million francs hidden under her cloak. The other, unjustly condemned but subli in her misfortune, was still rich with just a few coins.
This parallel disturbed his usual politeness. The philosophy he witnessed unsettled him. He muttered a few generic pleasantries and hurried down the stairs.
That day, the minister’s office clerks and subordinates had to endure quite a lot from Debray’s terrible mood.
But that sa night, he found himself the owner of a fine house on the Boulevard de la Madeleine with an inco of fifty thousand a year.
The next day, just as Debray was signing the property deed around five o’clock in the afternoon, Mada de Morcerf, after tenderly embracing her son, stepped into the private compartnt of the stagecoach, which closed behind her.
A man stood hidden in Lafitte’s banking house, behind one of the small arched windows above each desk. He watched rcédès enter the coach. He also saw Albert walk away.
Then he passed his hand across his forehead, which was clouded with uncertainty.
"Alas," he whispered to himself, "how can I restore the happiness I’ve taken from these poor, innocent people? God help !"
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