One of the first things Maximilian Morrel did, after he and his wife were comfortably installed at the HÔtel de France in Rome, was to make a formal call at the Palazzo Massetti and present his letters of introduction to the aged Count, Giovanni's father.

The old nobleman, who was at least seventy and very patriarchal in appearance because of his flowing white locks and long snowy beard, received the young Frenchman with great urbanity and condescension in a sumptuously furnished salon full of rare art treasures and dazzling with gold and satin. He met him with outstretched hand and said, warmly, at the same time glancing at the Captain's card as if to refresh his memory:

"I am delighted to have the honor of welcoming so distinguished a visitor as Captain Maximilian Morrel to the Palazzo Massetti. Pray be seated, Captain, and consider my residence as yours."

The Count spoke French fluently, without even the faintest trace of a foreign accent, and this fact as well as his charmingly cordial manner caused the young soldier immediately to feel at ease in his presence.

"I assure you, Count," returned Maximilian, bowing and then seating himself, "that the pleasure is mutual."

The aged nobleman also took a chair, and for a time they conversed agreeably on various subjects. The Count had been a brave, active soldier in his day and was much interested in French military affairs. The visitor, who was thoroughly posted on this topic and devotedly attached to his profession, gave his inquisitive host every detail he demanded and was particularly enthusiastic when he spoke of the Parisian workmen, who, as he asserted, could leave their accustomed toil at a moment's notice and encounter the perils of the battlefield with the endurance of trained veterans.

At length Maximilian thought he could venture to feel the ground in regard to his mission. It was certainly a very delicate matter, but the Count's politeness and bonhomie encouraged him to proceed. Looking the old nobleman straight in the face he said:

"I believe, Count, you have a son named Giovanni, who was recently in Paris."

Instantly the aged Roman's brow clouded and he cast a scrutinizing glance at his guest. Then he said, coldly:

"I have no son!"

Maximilian in his turn gazed searchingly at the Count, but the latter's visage had already assumed a stony and defiant look that seemed to oppose an insurmountable barrier to further conversation on this subject. There was an awkward pause, during which the two men continued to gaze at each other. M. Morrel, though much embarrassed and disconcerted by the prompt check he had received, was the first to break the ominous silence.

"I ask your pardon, Count," said he, "but the young man of whom I spoke represented himself to be the Viscount Giovanni Massetti. Is it possible that he was an impostor?"

The Count's aspect became more frigid; he replied, icily:

"I repeat that I have no son!"

Maximilian was sorely puzzled. He knew not what to think or say. The old nobleman arose as if to terminate the interview. He showed no trace of excitement, but M. Morrel felt certain that he was a prey to an internal agitation that he with difficulty controlled. There could be no doubt that Giovanni was what he had represented himself to be, for had he not passed as the Viscount Massetti in Rome as well as in Paris? But one solution to the mystery offered itself—the Count had disowned his son, disowned him because of the terrible crime with which he was charged, from which he had been apparently unable to clear himself. M. Morrel also arose, but he was unwilling to depart thus, to be summarily dismissed as it were. He determined to make one more effort to get at the truth.

"Count," he said, "I do not wish you to misunderstand me, to impute to mere idle curiosity my desire to be informed concerning this unfortunate and unhappy young man. I know that a black cloud hangs over him, that at present he is branded and disgraced. I was not aware, however, that his family had cast him off."

"Monsieur," returned the Count, impatiently, "you are strangely persistent."

"I am persistent, Count," said Maximilian, earnestly, "because the Viscount Massetti is not alone in his misfortune. Another, an estimable young lady, is now languishing in Paris on his account."

"I pity her!" said the old nobleman, impressively.

"So do I," rejoined Maximilian; "from the bottom of my heart I pity them both and that is the reason I am here."

"May I ask the name of this estimable young lady?"

"Certainly. Her name is Zuleika; she is the daughter of the world-famous Count of Monte-Cristo."

Old Massetti gave a start and the muscles of his face twitched nervously, but he managed to control himself and said:

"Indeed! Permit me to inquire what relations the young man sustained towards the daughter of the Count of Monte-Cristo."

"She is or rather was betrothed to him."

"My God! Another victim! Does the girl love him?"

"She does, with all her soul!"

"Did he betray her, did he lead her astray?"

"No; his conduct towards her was in all respects that of a man of the strictest honor."

"Heaven be praised for that! Then no damage has been done! Let her forget him!"

"I fear, I know, she cannot!"

"She is young, isn't she?"

"Very young."

"Then time will heal her wounds. She must forget him, for he is unworthy of her love!"

"But do you feel no affection, no pity, for your son?"

"I tell you I have no son! How many times must I repeat it!"

The Count's look was harder than ever; all the pride and haughtiness of the Massettis seemed concentrated in the expression of his venerable countenance. Maximilian opened his lips to speak again, but the old nobleman stopped him and said, sternly:

"We have had enough of this! Captain Morrel, let what has passed between us on this wretched subject be forgotten. I shall be glad to receive you at any hour as a friend, but, if you value my acquaintance, my friendship, never mention that young man to me again! Farewell, Monsieur!"

The Count touched a bell and a valet appeared. Maximilian bowed to his host and, guided by the servant, quitted the palazzo. In the street he stood for a moment like one utterly bewildered. It was plain that the elder Massetti had fully made up his mind as to Giovanni's guilt, and if the father deserted his son what hope was there that the cold, heartless world would not follow his example? Maximilian was in despair. At the very first step in his mission he had been unceremoniously and firmly halted. What was he to do? Should he acknowledge himself finally defeated because his initial attempt had failed so disastrously? No; that would be miserable cowardice! He would persist, he would make further investigations. He had undertaken this work for Zuleika, to restore happiness to her heart and light to her eyes, and he would not abandon the task, no matter how arduous it might be, until he had cleared Giovanni or obtained tangible, incontrovertible proof of his guilt!

Fortified by this resolution M. Morrel returned to the HÔtel de France. Valentine met him with a look of anxious inquiry. He endeavoured to seem cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but the effort was a pitiful failure. He sank into a chair and said to his wife in a dejected tone:

"I have seen the Count Massetti. He believes his son guilty and has disowned him!"

Valentine seated herself beside her husband and tenderly took his hand.

"Maximilian," she said, "it is a bad beginning, I confess, but you know the proverb and, I trust, the good ending will yet come!"

"It will not be our fault if it does not," replied her husband, heroically. "At all events, we will do our best."

"And we shall succeed! I feel confident of that!"

"Thank you for those words, Valentine! You are a perfect enchantress and have brought my dead hope to life!"

That evening the Morrels' decided to visit the Colosseum. They desired to see the gigantic remains of that vast fabric of the Cassars by moonlight, to inspect amid the silvery rays the crumbling courts and galleries that ages agone had echoed with the proud tread of the Élite of barbaric old Rome! Conducted by a guide belonging to the HÔtel de France, they set out and were soon standing among the ruins of the great amphitheatre. There they were seized upon by a special cicerone, who seemed to consider the huge wreck of Flavius Vespasian's monument as his particular property and who could not be shaken off. He joined forces with the hÔtel guide and the twain, jabbering away industriously in an almost unintelligible jargon, led the helpless visitors from one point of interest to another, showing them in turn broken columns, the seats of the Vestals, dilapidated stone staircases, the "Fosse des Lions" and the "Podium des CÉsars." Maximilian and Valentine were filled with unspeakable awe and admiration as they contemplated the remnants of ancient grandeur, and mentally peopled the wondrous Colosseum with contending gladiators, stately Patricians and the applauding herd of sanguinary Plebeians, Mme. Morrel shuddering as she thought of the thousands of high-bred dames and beautiful maidens who in the old days had pitilessly turned down their thumbs as a signal for the taking of human life! Although the moon was brilliant and flooded the antique amphitheatre with argentine light, the guides carried torches, which served to spread a flickering and wan illumination through the dark recesses of the cavernous vomitariums, now the refuge of bats, owls, goats and serpents.

As they were passing through a long and unusually sombre gallery, the guides suddenly paused with a simultaneous cry and began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian and Valentine halted in affright, the former hurriedly drawing a small pistol to defend his wife and himself against the unknown and mysterious danger. They glanced about them but could see nothing, the torches revealing only huge stones and dust-covered vaults. M. Morrel demanded of the guides what was the cause of their terror, but for some moments could glean no intelligence from their vague, unintelligible replies. At last one of the cicerones managed to explain that they had seen the maniac! This was comforting information to the visitors! A maniac at large and ranging at night about amid the Colosseum's ruins! Valentine, trembling with fear, clung to her husband for protection.

"Is it a man or a woman?" asked Maximilian of one of the guides.

"A man, signor."

"Is he violent, dangerous?"

"No, signor, neither; but his appearance gives one a terrible shock, he is so wild-looking, and, besides, he mutters fearful curses! Holy Virgin, protect us!"

Maximilian felt his curiosity aroused; a strange desire took possession of him to see and speak with this singular madman, who frequented the gladiators' courts and muttered fearful curses to the broken columns of the Colosseum.

"Where is the maniac now?" he demanded of the guides. "Do you see him?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied one of the men, glancing about him uneasily.

"But where is he? Can you take us to him?" persisted Maximilian.

The cicerones looked at each other in amazement; the young soldier's questions startled them. Valentine was not less amazed and startled than the guides; she stared at her husband, speechless at the strange interest he displayed in this miserable outcast.

"Can you take us to him?" repeated Maximilian.

"Signor," said the guide belonging to the hÔtel, "you are jesting!"

"I am not jesting, I am in earnest," said M. Morrel. "Answer my question."

"Of course, we can take you to him, signor," answered the guide; "but you had best avoid him; the sight of the wretched Massetti will drive your lady out of her wits!"

At the name Massetti both Maximilian and Valentine started; they glanced at each other and at the man who had spoken, thinking that they had not heard aright.

"Massetti!" cried M. Morrel, when his astonishment permitted him to find words. "Did you say Massetti?"

"Yes, signor, I said Massetti. The maniac is old Count Massetti's disowned and disinherited son!"

"What! The Viscount Giovanni?"

"The same, signor!"

"Oh! this is dreadful, dreadful, Maximilian!" whispered Valentine, clinging still closer to her husband.

"It is, indeed, dreadful; doubly so because entirely unexpected," said M. Morrel. "But I must see young Massetti—it was, no doubt, some mysterious influence, some indescribable magnetic power, operating between us, that made me wish to see this man, this maniac, as soon as he was mentioned!—I must see him and at once!"

As the guides possessed but a very slight knowledge of the French language, in which the dialogue between the husband and wife had been carried on, they failed to grasp the full import of the brief conversation; they, however, understood that their patrons were in some inexplicable way interested in the maniac of the Colosseum and appalled by the sudden discovery of his identity. The situation puzzled and dissatisfied them.

After thinking for an instant, Maximilian said to his wife:

"I will instruct the guide from the hÔtel to conduct you back to our apartments. It is best that I should meet poor Massetti alone; seeing the wretched man in his present terrible condition would certainly shock and unnerve you."

Valentine gazed pleadingly into her husband's face. All her fear had left her. She was calm now and resolved. She had proposed the trip to Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and Zuleika. She said, bravely:

"Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."

Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.

"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with me and we will face the trial together!"

His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.

M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent bewilderment.

"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.

The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed Virgin.

The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast gladiatorial arena.

"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the Colosseum!"

Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction indicated but saw nothing.

"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.

Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone. The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was lifted menacingly.

"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"

M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its scope.

The guides fell upon their knees, uncovered their heads and prayed to the Virgin in low tones.

Maximilian took Valentine by the hand.

"Come," said he, "let us go to him!"

Mme. Morrel trembled slightly, but answered, firmly:

"I am ready!"

Then, hand in hand, slowly, cautiously, not knowing what might happen, they advanced towards the maniac of the Colosseum.