Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 5).djvu/296

 dozen bottles, drink them, and pay next day. Eugene Loupian, already half drunk, gleefully accepted the proposal; but just when the door had been forced, and the bottles selected, two for each member of the gang, the police, warned by a traitor, came on the scene; the six offenders were arrested, tried, and condemned for burglary, and young Loupian had to undergo twenty years in prison.

This catastrophe completed the ruin and ill-fortune of the family. The beautiful and rich Thérèse died of grief, and as she left no children, the remains of her dowry had to be restored to her family. The wretched Loupian and his daughter were thus left without resources; but the faithful waiter, who had a few savings, offered to advance some money to the young woman, but attached a price to these services, and made improper proposals to Mademoiselle Loupian. The girl, in hopes of saving her father, and in the depths of want, accepted the shameful condition, and sank from concubinage to the lowest stage of degradation.

Loupian could be hardly said to live; his misfortunes had shaken his reason. One evening, while he was walking in a dark alley in the garden of the Tuileries a man in a mask stood before him.

"Loupian," he cried, "do you remember the year 1807?"

"Why?"

"Do you know what crime you committed at that time?"

"A crime!"

"An infamous crime! Out of jealousy, you flung into a dungeon your friend Picaud,—do you remember?"

"God has punished me severely!"

"No, not God, but Picaud himself. To allay his vengeance, he stabbed Chaubard on the Pont des Arts; he poisoned Solari; he gave your daughter a convict for a husband, and wove the net into which your son fell; his hand killed your dog and your wife's parrot; his hand set fire to your house and urged on the robbers; he has caused your wife to die of sorrow; your daughter is his concubine. Yes, in your waiter, Prosper, recognize Picaud; recognize him at the moment when he will complete his Number Three!"

Furious with rage, he plunged his dagger into the heart of his victim, with such a well-directed blow that Loupian fell dead without uttering a cry. Having accomplished this last act of vengeance, Picaud turned to leave the garden, when an iron hand seized him by the neck and flung him to the ground beside the corpse, and a man, taking advantage of his surprise, tied his hands and feet, thrust a gag into his mouth, and, wrapping him up in his own cloak, carried him off.

Nothing could equal the rage and astonishment of Picaud when he found himself thus bound and hurried away. It was certain he had