CHAPTER XIV.
THE MINUTE VIALS.
Even to the Communists, with whom he had come into such close contact,M. Dantes, the Deputy from Marseilles, remained as much of a mystery asever. Marrast, though now devotedly attached to him, admitted that hewas totally unable to fathom either his designs, or his methods ofaccomplishing them, while Lamartine, who was in his company a largeportion of the time, when questioned concerning him, replied that all heknew of M. Dantes was that he was a firm friend of the cause and anuntiring worker in the interest of the weary and oppressed masses.
Debray, though he had no tangible foundation for it, could not get ridof the idea that the dangerous Deputy and the Count of Monte-Cristo wereone and the same individual, but Beauchamp, with the usual incredulityof journalists, scoffed at the notion, and Chateau-Renaud derided itwhenever it was mentioned in his presence.
That M. Dantes had great wealth was, however, generally admitted, thoughwhence it was derived or in what manner it was invested no one couldtell. It was now no longer a secret that he had purchased and resided inthe magnificent mansion formerly owned by the Count de Morcerf, in theRue du Helder, and this circumstance, while it vastly augmented theinterest attaching to him, did not in the least detract from theenthusiasm felt for him by the working classes.
It was night. In a large chamber, richly furnished, but dimly lighted,in the mansion in the Rue du Helder, the same apartment once inhabitedby the Countess de Morcerf, motionless, and seemingly lifeless, with acountenance as pale as alabaster, and as still, lay M. Dantes, theDeputy from Marseilles. Although, in the ashy pallor of the lips andbrow, and the fixed, serene, almost stern aspect of the immovable face,might be read unmistakable evidence of an exhausting and dangerousconstitutional shock to the system, yet none of that emaciation, overwhich broods the shadow of the angel of death, resulting from protractedillness, was there to be seen. The broad white forehead--the raven hair,sparsely sprinkled with silver--the round temples--the delicatelypenciled brow, encircling, like a sable arch, the large andalmond-formed eye--the full calm lip, and the chiseled chin andnostril--all these were as perfect now as when last before the reader.The cheek was, perhaps, slightly sunken, but it could not be more pallidthan when last beheld; and but for that nameless quietude--that "raptureof repose," as Lord Byron well expresses it--that placid languor whichsleeps on the features, which illness always creates and whichspiritualizes and intellectualizes the most common features, the invalidmight be supposed to be enjoying the most quiet slumber.
Excepting the invalid, there was no one in that chamber save thefaithful Ali, who moved noiselessly about, from time to time, or satimmovably upon the floor and gazed on his master's pallid face.
As the silvery tones of the chamber clock tinkled forth the thirdquarter after ten, the door opened, and a small, dark, thin man, withlarge whiskers, keen, penetrating eyes, broad, bald forehead, thinlycovered with gray hair, and apparently about fifty years of age, brisklyentered. It was Dr. Orfila, a name somewhat known in medical science.Approaching the bed, he placed his fingers upon the sick man's pulse,and gazed earnestly on his face for some time in silence.
"Strange!" he at length muttered; "the most powerful drugs in the mostunheard-of quantities are powerless! Who, then, is this man, whosenature so differs from that of every one else? Can he so haveaccustomed his system to poisons, that, as with the King of Pontus, theyare ineffectual to help or to harm him? His constitution must be iron!The vitality of a dozen men is in him, or he'd have been dead a monthago. Well, it's plain he's no worse, if he's no better. Drugs areuseless, and he must be left to nature and his amazing constitution.This stupor, this utter death of all the faculties and senses for solong a time, is wonderful. Fever, delirium, anything but this death-liketrance. It seems as if this man had been sleepless all his life before,and that now his overwrought brain and heart were compensatingthemselves for the toil and wakefulness of years. Could I but excite thenerves!"
For some time the physician gazed in deep thought at the pale face ofthe unconscious slumberer. Suddenly turning to the Nubian, he said tohim:
"Ali, where does your master keep the drugs he has been for yearsaccustomed to take?"
The Nubian stared in mute amazement, but moved not from his rug.
"Ali," said Dr. Orfila, sternly, "unless I see and know those drugs,this night your master dies."
The Nubian looked anxiously into the face of the physician, and then, asif satisfied with the scrutiny, rose, and, with noiseless steps, leftthe room. In a few moments he re-entered and placed in the physician'shands a small casket of ebony, exquisitely worked and studded with gems.Taking it hastily to the shaded lamp upon a table at the extremity ofthe chamber, he attempted to open it, but his attempts were vain.Indeed, to all appearances, it was a solid block of ebony, and itsextreme heaviness, compared with its dimensions, seemed to favor theidea.
"Well?" said the doctor, returning the casket, after a close scrutiny,to the Nubian, who had followed him.
Ali took the casket, and instantly a portion of the top flew up,disclosing within the centre of the cube of ebony a cavity lined withcrimson velvet, and a dazzling array of minute vials of crystal, eachfilled with a fluid--pink, blue, green and yellow in hue, while thecontents of several were colorless. The Nubian had touched a springconcealed in the carving, and known only to his master and himself.
The physician removed the minute vials one after another from theirreceptacles, and held them up to the light; on each was a cipher, and onno two was the same. Most of them were quite filled with the fluidcontained, but some were only half full, while one was nearly empty. Dr.Orfila looked closely at the cipher upon each vial as he removed it fromthe casket. He then held it to the light to determine its particular hueor shade, and sometimes withdrew the crystal stopper ground into thedeep mouth, touching it cautiously and quickly to his nostril or the tipof his tongue. "Morphia, cinchonia, quinia, lobelia, belladonna,narcotina, bromine, arsenicum, strychnos colubrina, brucoeaferruginea," muttered the savant, as he examined one vial after theother and replaced it. "Brucoea ferruginea--ha! brucine! I thought asmuch," exclaimed he, holding up the vial, which showed, by being nearlyempty, that its contents had been used more frequently than those of anyof the others.
"How many drops of this is the greatest number your master has evertaken?" asked Dr. Orfila.
The Nubian, who, it will be remembered, was a mute, held up both handswith the fingers outspread, and then two other fingers of one of hishands.
"Twelve drops!" cried the astonished physician. "Impossible!"
Ali insisted on the assertion.
"And yet it must be so," the doctor added. "That would explain all."
Taking the vial and a minute crystal vessel, which he found in thecasket, he hastily but carefully dropped into the latter thirteen drops.Then filling the vessel with water, he approached the patient, who stillslumbered heavily on, and placed it to his lips. For an instant heseemed conscious of the wish of the physician, and with an effort themixture was swallowed. Then he lay as still and motionless as before.
Returning the vials and the vessel to their places, Dr. Orfila closedthe casket and gave it to the Nubian. He then gazed long and anxiouslyat the torpid slumberer, standing at the bedside and watching thatmarble face.
At length the clock struck eleven. Dr. Orfila started and hastilyglanced at his repeater; then, turning to the Nubian, who had carriedaway the casket, and, having noiselessly returned, stood silently besidehim, he said:
"Ali, in one hour your master will be in high fever; in two hours hewill, probably, be delirious. He will then sleep soundly, and towardmorning will wake, I hope, in his right mind, but terribly exhausted andprofusely perspiring. At daylight I shall be here. You must not leavehim for a single instant as you value his life."
The Nubian clasped his hands above his head and bent his forehead almostto the floor.
"If you think necessary, however, Ali, send for me before morning."
&nb
sp; The physician gave one more look at his patient, pressed his fingers onhis pulse, placed his palm on his forehead, and then, taking his hat andcane, left the chamber.