Twenty years since Courberrie was very far from what it is to-day. The houses were scattered and much fewer. Along the Seine extended deserted fields, against which the sullen tide rose and fell. In one of these fields stood an old wooden house which was not inhabited, for both wind and rain penetrated its roof and walls. On this especial night, however, any one familiar with the locality would have been astonished to see a light gleam through the worm-eaten shutters. In one room was a chair and a table. On the table was a lamp, but there was no other furniture.

Pacing the room, and occasionally stopping to listen to the storm that shook the old house like the bones of a skeleton, was a man—a reddish beard covered half his face. He was dressed in black, and had thrown a cloak and broad-brimmed hat on the table.

"Will he come?" he muttered, "will the long-expected hour ever strike?"

A slight sound was heard without. The dry branches crackled; the man started, then snatched his hat and pulled it well down over his forehead. The hand that was hidden in the folds of the cloak which he threw over his shoulders, held a dagger.

"I won't use it, though!" he said aloud, "his sufferings would be too brief!"

There came a knock at the door.

"Does a man named Malvernet live here?" asked a voice.

"Yes, come in," and the door was thrown wide open.

Esperance entered.

"What do you want of me? I am Malvernet," said a gruff voice.

Esperance looked about the room. The man was alone, and Esperance knew that he could defend himself.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"No. I was told to wait for a man here, who would come. I have done as I was bidden, that is all."

"I will tell you then. I am Esperance, the son of the Count of Monte-Cristo. I am rich, so rich that I do not myself know how much I have. Now if you obey me faithfully, I will make you so rich that every wish you have will be realized."

A sneer was on Malvernet's lips.

"You offer me money, do you, and why? Tell me what you want of me?"

"Scoundrels entered my house in the night—"

"And robbed you?"

"Yes, they robbed me of a treasure—a treasure for which I would give all else I have in the world. They carried away a young girl whom I love."

"And the girl's name?"

"Jane. And now I wish you to take me to her."

"And if I refuse?"

"I will kill you!" answered Esperance, coldly.

The other began to laugh noisily.

"No," he said, "you will not kill me! You know that if you did that, with me would disappear every trace of her whom you love, and you would say to yourself, if he refuses to-day he may yield to-morrow. You see, son of Monte-Cristo, that your threats are preposterous and can't frighten me."

"Then you refuse to do as I ask?"

"By no means. Only I wish to prove to you that these grand airs are simply foolish. You need me, but I do not need you. The game is not equal!"

"You are right," said Esperance, "and I ask your pardon."

The eyes of Benedetto—for it was Benedetto—flashed with triumph to see the son of his enemy thus humble. He had him in his power now and could kill him if he pleased, but death would not have assuaged his thirst for vengeance.

"All right," he said, "I was a little provoked with you, but I will help you now."

Esperance uttered an exclamation of thankfulness.

"Then let us hasten. When I have found Jane, ask me for my life if you choose."

Benedetto opened the door.

"Go on, sir, I will follow you."

And as they went out, Benedetto muttered:

"You little know what you say. Your life is indeed mine, and I mean to have it."

The night was excessively dark, but Esperance felt neither rain nor wind; his fever was so great that he was not cold.

Ah! Monte-Cristo, where are you? Here is your son rushing into the most terrible danger, and you far away!

Through the darkness Esperance followed Benedetto the assassin. Suddenly it seemed to him that the obscurity was rent away like a vail.

"Where are we?" he said to his guide.

"On the bank of the Seine. We have not far to go. Are you afraid?"

Esperance did not reply to this insulting question.

"Go on!" he said.

Presently they stopped before a dark building. Not a light was to be seen. Benedetto turned to the son of Monte-Cristo.

"This is the place to which I agreed to bring you."

"Do you mean that my beloved Jane is in this house?"

"She is here."

"I cannot believe it. The whole thing is a plot!"

"Will you kindly tell me, sir," said Benedetto, "why I should take the trouble to come all this way? A half hour since we were together where no human eye could see us, nor human ear hear us. What would have prevented my attacking you then, had my intentions been sinister?"

"That is true; but tell me that you are mistaken—that my poor Jane is not here!"

At this moment shrill laughter and ribald songs came from the house near which Esperance stood.

"Let us go in!" cried the Vicomte. "Jane must not stay here one other minute."

"Come, then," answered Benedetto, "you shall be satisfied."

He opened the door, but it was as dark within as without. Esperance heard the door close; he spoke, but there was no answer. He stretched out his arms and felt the wall, and instantly his eyes regained their peculiar facility of sight. He was alone in a small, square room without door or window. He uttered a cry of rage.

"I have been deceived! The scoundrel!"

But at the same moment the wall opened before him like two sliding panels, but in the place of the wall were iron bars. And through these bars Esperance beheld Jane, but what he saw was so terrible that he recoiled and uttered a cry of terror, which was drowned in shrieks of laughter, wild songs and the clatter of glasses.