All of Paris was buzzing with gossip about the recent disasters that had struck three of the city’s most powerful families. Within days, the wealthy Morcerf household had fallen into disgrace, the Danglars family had been ruined financially, and tragedy had devastated the Villefort estate. It seed impossible that so much could go wrong for people who’d had everything just a week ago.
In their modest apartnt on Rue slay, Emmanuel and his wife Julie were discussing these shocking events. Their friend Maximilian sat with them, but he barely seed present. Ever since the death of his beloved Valentine, he’d been trapped in a fog of depression, going through the motions of life without really living.
"It’s almost like sothing out of a fairy tale," Julie said thoughtfully. "Like these rich, happy people forgot to invite so dark fairy to their celebration, and now she’s returned for revenge."
"What terrible misfortune," Emmanuel murmured, thinking of how quickly the Morcerf and Danglars families had fallen.
"And such awful suffering," Julie added quietly. She was thinking of Valentine but didn’t want to say the na in front of her brother Maximilian, who’d loved her.
Emmanuel shook his head gravely. "If God himself struck them down, it must be because their past actions were too terrible to forgive."
"That’s harsh, don’t you think?" Julie challenged him gently. "Rember when our father almost took his own life? If soone had said back then that he deserved his suffering, they would have been completely wrong."
"True, but your father was saved. Soone was sent to stop him from making that fatal mistake."
The doorbell rang before Emmanuel could say more. A mont later, the door opened and the Count of Monte Cristo stepped into the room. Julie and Emmanuel jumped up with excited greetations, while Maximilian only raised his head briefly before looking down again.
"Maximilian," the Count said, ignoring the mixed reactions to his arrival, "I’ve co for you."
"For ?" Maximilian repeated, as if waking from a dream.
"Yes. We agreed I would take you with , rember? I told you yesterday to prepare for a journey."
"I’m ready," Maximilian said quietly. "I ca to say goodbye to them."
"Where are you going, Count?" Julie asked with concern.
"First to Marseilles."
"Marseilles!" both Julie and Emmanuel exclaid together.
"Yes, and I’m taking your brother with ."
Julie’s eyes filled with worry. "Will you bring him back to us healed? Will he be himself again?" She could see how her brother was wasting away with grief.
"You can see he’s not happy?" the Count asked.
"Yes," Julie admitted sadly. "I think he finds our ho too dull now."
"Then I’ll make it my mission to restore his spirits," Monte Cristo promised.
"I’m ready to go with you, sir," Maximilian said in that flat, emotionless voice he’d adopted since Valentine’s death. "Goodbye, my friends. Emmanuel, Julie, farewell."
"Wait, what?" Julie protested. "You’re leaving right now? Just like that? No preparations, no passport, nothing?"
"Delaying will only make the pain worse," Monte Cristo said smoothly. "And I’m sure Maximilian has everything he needs. I advised him to prepare, after all."
"I have my passport, and my bags are packed," Morrel confird in that sa sad, hollow tone.
Monte Cristo smiled. "You see? The efficiency of a trained soldier."
"But you can’t just leave us like this!" Julie insisted. "Can’t you give us at least a day? Even an hour to spend together before you go?"
"My carriage is waiting outside, and I must reach Ro within five days."
"Ro?" Emmanuel looked confused. "Maximilian is going to Ro?"
"I’ll go wherever the Count takes ," Morrel said with a bitter smile. "I’ve placed myself under his command for the next month."
Julie looked distressed. "Count, he sounds so strange! Maximilian, you’re hiding sothing from us, I know it."
"Don’t worry," Monte Cristo said in his most reassuring voice. "You’ll see him return happy and smiling again."
Maximilian shot the Count a look that bordered on anger, but said nothing.
"We really must go now," Monte Cristo announced.
"Before you leave," Julie said quickly, "please let us thank you properly for everything you’ve done-"
The Count took both her hands in his, cutting her off. "My dear Julie, anything you could say with words, I can already read in your eyes. I understand what’s in your heart. Like the mysterious benefactors in old stories, I should probably disappear without seeing you again. But I’m too weak and vain for that, I need to see your kind faces one more ti. On the eve of my departure, I’m selfish enough to say: don’t forget , my dear friends. Because you’ll probably never see again."
"Never?" Emmanuel’s voice broke, and tears rolled down Julie’s cheeks. "You’re not just a man, you’re like an angel who ca down to earth to do good, and now you’re returning to heaven!"
"Don’t say that," Monte Cristo said quickly, though his voice was gentle. "Angels never make mistakes. They can overco fate itself. No, Emmanuel, I’m just a man. Your admiration is too generous, and your words give more credit than I deserve."
He kissed Julie’s hand as she threw her arms around him, then clasped Emmanuel’s hand firmly. Finally, with visible effort, he tore himself away from this peaceful ho and signaled to Maximilian to follow.
As they left, Julie whispered to the Count, "Please, bring my brother back to us whole."
The Count squeezed her hand in response, the sa way he’d done eleven years earlier on the staircase outside her father’s study, when he’d saved their family from ruin.
"Do you still trust in Sinbad the Sailor?" he asked with a knowing smile, referring to one of his old disguises.
"Always," Julie answered without hesitation.
"Then sleep peacefully and have faith."
Outside, a carriage waited with four powerful horses stamping impatiently. Ali, the Count’s servant, stood by the steps, his face covered in sweat as if he’d just returned from a long errand.
"Well?" the Count asked in Arabic. "Did you visit the old man?"
Ali nodded.
"And you gave him the letter as I instructed?"
Another nod.
"What was his response?"
Ali stepped into the light where his master could see him clearly. Then, in an eerily accurate imitation, he closed his eyes the way the paralyzed old man Noirtier did when he ant "yes."
"Good. He accepts," Monte Cristo said with satisfaction. "Let’s go."
Within seconds, the carriage was racing through the streets, the horses’ hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones. Maximilian sat silently in his corner, not speaking a word. Half an hour passed before the carriage suddenly stopped, the Count had pulled the silk cord connected to Ali’s finger.
The servant imdiately jumped down and opened the door. They had reached the top of Villejuif hill, where Paris spread out below them like a dark, restless ocean. The city’s countless lights flickered like phosphorescent waves, waves more turbulent, passionate, and greedy than any real sea. Unlike the ocean, which sotis rests, Paris never sleeps. It’s constantly churning, consuming everything that falls within its grasp.
The Count stepped out alone, gesturing for the carriage to move a short distance away. He stood with his arms folded, gazing down at the great city for a long mont.
"Great city," he murmured, bowing his head as if in prayer, "less than six months ago, I entered your gates for the first ti. I believe God led to you, and now he grants the strength to leave you triumphant. Only God knows why I ca here, and only he could read the secrets of my heart. God knows I leave you without pride or hatred, though I have many regrets. He knows that the power I wielded was never used for selfish gain. Oh great city, within your beating heart I found what I was searching for. Like a miner digging deep underground, I burrowed into your depths to root out the evil hidden there. Now my work is finished. My mission is complete. You can no longer bring pain or pleasure. Farewell, Paris. Farewell."
His gaze swept over the vast plain like so spirit of the night. He touched his forehead once, then climbed back into the carriage. The door closed, and the vehicle disappeared down the other side of the hill in a cloud of dust.
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