The power of A name

The young Viscount, for it was, indeed, he whom the gigantic masked brigand had halted, was staggered for an instant by this unlooked for interruption of his journey in pursuit of the beautiful flower-girl. He gazed at the huge ruffian in front of him first in bewilderment and then in anger. The robber calmly continued to cover him with his pistol; as Giovanni made a movement with his hand towards a stiletto he wore at the belt of his peasant’s dress, the man’s quick eye detected his intention and he exclaimed, in a rough tone of command:

“Touch that stiletto and I will blow your brains out!”

The Viscount dropped his hand; he was as brave as a lion, but the bandit had the advantage of him and, courageous as he was, he instantly recognized the folly of disregarding his warning. His rage and indignation, however, were too great for him to control. He cried to his stalwart adversary:

“Why do you stop a poor peasant from whom you can obtain nothing?”

“You are not a poor peasant, signor!”

“I am not, eh? Well, search me and see!”

“You are neither a poor peasant, signor, nor any peasant at all! I have seen you too often in Rome to be deceived by the flimsy disguise you wear so unnaturally! I know you! You are the Viscount Giovanni Massetti!”

“Well, what if I am?” retorted the young man, sharply. “The fact will not benefit you or any member of your accursed and cowardly band!”

“Have a care how you talk, signor!” exclaimed the bandit, threateningly. “Insolence to your captors may cost you more than you would be willing to pay!”

“Indeed?”

“Yes; I mean exactly what I say. It may cost you your life!”

Giovanni glared at the brigand with unflinching eyes. He returned threat for threat.

“Take my life, if you will,” he said. “It would be the worst piece of work you have ever done!”

“May I ask why, signor?”

“It would raise my family against you and the result could not fail to be your extermination!”

The man laughed loudly, and caustically replied:

“You are joking! What can your family do against Luigi Vampa and his comrades, who have long been countenanced by the highest authority!”

This was the climax of insult, and Giovanni, driven to the highest pitch of fury, unable longer to control himself, tore his stiletto from its sheath and, raising it aloft, made a frantic dash at the gigantic brigand. Instantly the latter fired. Giovanni dropped his weapon; his right arm fell useless at his side.

Esperance meanwhile had not been idle. His excitement was intense, and with it was mingled terrible fear for the safety of his friend. Nevertheless, he eventually succeeded in sufficiently calming and collecting himself to form a plan of action and put it in execution. He had provided himself with a pistol, which he had freshly charged prior to his departure from the Palazzo Costi. He drew this weapon from its place of concealment at the first intimation of danger, noiselessly cocking it. The road was skirted with tall thick bushes from which projected a fringe of heavy shadows. Along this dark fringe Esperance stole with cautious tread towards the huge bandit, as soon as he perceived him standing in the centre of the highway and noted his threatening attitude. As he stealthily advanced, the moon suddenly rose, flooding the scene with its silvery light. Its rays, however, did not disturb the line of skirting shadows, and Esperance passed on unseen. When the brigand fired he was very near him. Seeing Giovanni’s arm fall and realizing that he was wounded, the son of Monte-Cristo promptly raised his weapon and, covering the gigantic ruffian, discharged it directly at his heart. Blood gushed from the man’s breast. He sank to the ground, where he lay quivering convulsively; in another instant he expired without even uttering a groan.

Giovanni, whose arm was badly shattered and who was suffering frightful pain, stood speechless with amazement at this sudden, unexpected intervention in his favor. Esperance instantly sprang to his side. The young Italian stared at him as if he had been an apparition from the other world. He failed to recognize him in his peasant’s dress, with his stained visage.

“Who are you?” he gasped, as soon as he was able to find words.

“Do you not know me?” asked Esperance, astonished. In his excitement he had forgotten his disguise.

“You are a stranger to me,” replied the Viscount, “but my gratitude is none the less on that account. You have rescued me from captivity, perhaps saved my life!”

“I am no stranger, Giovanni. I am your friend, Esperance.”

“What! Esperance in that dress, with that sunburnt countenance! I thought your voice had a strangely familiar sound, but your disguise proved too complete for me to penetrate it!”

These words recalled to the mind of the son of Monte-Cristo the changes he had made in his appearance. No wonder that Viscount had failed to recognize him!

“Why did you disguise yourself, and how came you here at this critical juncture?” demanded Giovanni, after a pause.

“I disguised myself that I might follow you without fear of detection. You would not listen to reason, and I determined to protect you during your rash adventure so far as might lie in my power.”

“From the bottom of my heart I thank you, Esperance. You are a brave as well as a devoted friend, fully worthy of your illustrious father! But how did you know me? I too, am disguised.”

“The fact of my own disguise enabled me to penetrate yours. I recognized you almost immediately after you passed me on the Ponte St. Angelo.”

“What! Were you the peasant I nearly ran down as I crossed the bridge?”

“I was. But let us lose no more time; we have lost enough already. Besides, more of Luigi Vampa’s band are probably prowling in the vicinity, and I imagine we both have had sufficient of the banditti for one night! Prudence dictates that we should return at once to Rome. With your shattered arm, you surely do not count upon continuing your search for the fair Annunziata at present?”

“No; that is impossible, I regret to say. I will return with you to Rome.”

As the Viscount spoke a sudden tremor seized upon him, and he leaned on his friend’s shoulder for support.

“You are faint from loss of blood!” exclaimed Esperance, much alarmed. “How thoughtless in me not to bind up your wound!”

Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the blood from his friend’s arm, carefully, tenderly bandaging the hurt; then he made a sling of Giovanni’s handkerchief, placing the wounded member in it. The Viscount felt easier thus, though still somewhat faint.

“You are quite a physician, Esperance,” said he.

“Not at all,” replied the son of Monte-Cristo; “but my father taught me how to manage hurts; he said the knowledge would at some time be useful to me, and his words have proved true.”

“Your father is a wonderful man; he seems to think of everything, to provide for all contingencies. Thanks to the skill he imparted to you, I am now in a condition to start on the homeward journey.”

The young men turned their faces towards Rome, but scarcely had they taken a dozen steps when the road in front of them literally swarmed with rough-looking armed men, who effectually barred their progress. In an instant they were surrounded. Resistance was impossible; the two friends glanced at each other and about them in dismay. The new comers were evidently bandits, members of Luigi Vampa’s desperate band.

One of the miscreants, who appeared to be the leader and was very picturesquely attired, confronted Giovanni and Esperance. He had a pistol in his belt, but did not draw it.

“You are my prisoners!” said he, in a tone of authority.

“Who are you, and by what right do you detain us?” demanded Esperance, haughtily.

“Who I am,” replied the brigand, in a stern voice, “does not concern you. The right by which I detain you is the right of the strongest!”

“We cannot oppose your will, however unreasonable and unjust,” returned Esperance; “my friend is wounded and my pistol is discharged. We can only throw ourselves upon your mercy; but we are gentlemen in spite of our dress, and demand to be treated as such!”

“How came your friend to be wounded and your pistol discharged?” asked the bandit, suspiciously.

“My friend was attacked and I went to his assistance,” answered Esperance.

“You were in a fight, then,” resumed the leader. Turning suddenly to his men, he asked: “Where is Ludovico?”

“He went up the road half an hour since, and has not yet returned,” answered a short, thick-set young fellow, who seemed to be the leader’s lieutenant.

“Just like him,” said the leader. “Always rash, always seeking adventures alone. I heard a pistol-shot some time back,” he continued, looking menacingly at Esperance. “Perhaps Ludovico has been assassinated! If so, it shall go hard with his murderers! Let him be searched for.”

The short, thick-set lieutenant, accompanied by several of the band, immediately departed to obey the order.

Esperance glanced anxiously at Giovanni. A new danger threatened them. The gigantic brigand who had been slain was, without doubt, this Ludovico. His body would be found and summary vengeance taken upon them. Giovanni also realized the additional peril; but neither of the young men gave the slightest evidence of fear; inwardly they resolved to face death stoically, to meet it without the quiver of a muscle.

In a brief space the lieutenant and his companions returned; two of the men bore the corpse of the huge robber; they placed it on the grass by the roadside where the full moonlight streamed upon it, showing the wound in the breast and the garments saturated with blood. A frown contracted the leader’s visage; he glanced at Esperance and the Viscount with a look of hate and rage; then, turning to the lieutenant, he said:

“Well?”

“We found Ludovico lying in the road a little distance from here,” replied the short, thick-set man, with a trace of emotion in his rough voice. “He was shot in the heart and had been dead for some time.”

The brigands had gathered about the prostrate form of their comrade; they seemed to be much affected by his fate; Ludovico was evidently a favorite.

As soon as the leader had received his subordinate’s report, he turned to the prisoners, asking, sternly:

“Which of you murdered this man?”

“No murder was committed,” returned Esperance, indignantly. “The huge ruffian shot my friend, shattering his arm, as you see; he was killed as a measure of defence.”

“Your pistol is discharged,” continued the leader, harshly; “that you have admitted; you killed Ludovico!”

“I defended my friend, whom he had basely attacked,” said Esperance, sullenly.

“You killed this man? Yes or no!”

“I killed him!”

“Enough!” cried the leader, grinding his teeth. “You shall pay the penalty of your crime! Both of you shall die!”

He motioned to his lieutenant and in an instant Esperance and Giovanni were securely bound. The young men read desperate resolution and fierce vengeance upon all the rough countenances around them. There was not the faintest glimmer of hope; death would be dealt out to them at once and in the most summary fashion. Indeed, nooses were already dangling from a couple of trees by the roadside, waiting to do their fell work. The sight of these dread preparations roused Giovanni. With flashing eyes, he faced the leader of the band.

“Beware!” he cried. “If you murder us, you will have all Rome to deal with! We have told you we are gentlemen and not peasants. I am the Viscount Giovanni Massetti and my companion is the son of the famous Count of Monte-Cristo!”

As the young Italian uttered these words, a new comer suddenly appeared upon the scene for whom all the rest made way. He was an intellectual looking man, unostentatiously attired in a peasant’s garb.

“Who spoke the name of the Count of Monte-Cristo?” demanded he.

The leader silently pointed to Massetti, who instantly replied:

“I spoke the name of the Count of Monte-Cristo, and he will surely take bitter vengeance upon you all for the murder of his son!”

“His son?”

“Yes, his son, who stands here at my side, ignobly bound and menaced with a shameful death!”

The stranger turned to Esperance and examined him closely.

“Are you the son of Monte-Cristo?” he asked, visibly agitated.

“I am,” answered Esperance, coldly.

“Give me some token.”

“‘Wait and hope!’”

“His maxim!”

“Ah! you recognize it. Do you also recognize this?”

As he spoke the young man held up his left hand, and a magnificent diamond ring he wore flashed in the moonlight. The new comer took his hand and glanced at the jewel, one that the Count of Monte-Cristo had worn for years and which he had but a few days before presented to his son.

“I am convinced,” said the stranger. Then, turning to the leader, he said, in a tone of command: “Release these men!”

“But they have slain Ludovico!”

“Release them!” thundered the stranger. “Ludovico should have known better then to have interfered with my friends!”

He was instantly obeyed, and the two young men, greatly astonished, stood relieved of their bonds.

“You are at liberty,” continued the stranger, “and can resume your route. Say to the Count of Monte-Cristo that Luigi Vampa remembers his compact and is faithful to it!”

As he spoke the notorious bandit chief gathered his men together, and the whole band vanished among the trees like so many spirits of the night.