Chapter 29: A Dangerous Game: I
M. Noirtier watched the servant leave, his sharp eyes tracking every movement until the door clicked shut. Something told him to be cautious, maybe years of living on the edge had sharpened his instincts. He reopened the door and caught a glimpse of Germain’s retreating figure, clearly eavesdropping. The old man’s lips curved in a knowing smile. Even servants couldn’t resist a little spying.
Taking no chances, Noirtier locked both the outer door and the bedroom door before turning to face his son. Villefort had been watching this entire routine with barely concealed shock.
"Well now, my dear Gérard," Noirtier said, giving his son a meaningful look, "you don’t exactly seem thrilled to see me."
Villefort’s face flushed. "Father, of course I’m delighted! It’s just... I wasn’t expecting you. The surprise caught me off guard."
"Funny," Noirtier replied, settling into a chair with casual confidence, "I could say the same about you. You announce your wedding for February 28th, then suddenly show up in Paris on March 3rd without warning."
Gérard moved closer, lowering his voice. "If I came here, Father, don’t complain. I came for you. This trip might just save your life."
Noirtier raised an eyebrow and leaned back, looking amused. "Oh really? This sounds interesting. Tell me everything."
"Father, have you heard of a certain political group that meets on Saint-Jacques Street?"
"Number 53? Yes, I’m the vice-president."
Villefort went pale. "Father, your casual attitude terrifies me."
"Son, when you’ve been marked for death by extremists, escaped Paris hidden in a hay cart, and been hunted across the countryside by bloodthirsty fanatics, you get used to most things. But go on, what about the Saint-Jacques group?"
"They lured General Quesnel there. He left his house at nine in the evening and was found dead in the river the next day."
"And who told you this interesting story?"
"The king himself."
Noirtier smiled grimly. "Well then, let me tell you a story in return."
"Father, I think I already know what you’re going to say."
"Ah, so you’ve heard about the emperor’s return?"
"Keep your voice down!" Gérard hissed, glancing toward the door. "For both our sakes! Yes, I heard the news, I knew about it before you could have. Three days ago I raced from Marseilles to Paris as fast as possible, half-mad with worry about the delay."
"Three days ago?" Noirtier laughed. "You’re losing your mind. Three days ago, the emperor hadn’t even landed yet."
"It doesn’t matter. I knew his intentions."
"How?"
"From a letter addressed to you. From his place of exile."
"To me?"
"Yes. I found it in the messenger’s bag. If that letter had fallen into anyone else’s hands, Father, you’d probably be dead by now."
Noirtier just laughed. "Come now, will the new government adopt such extreme methods so quickly? Dead? What a dramatic idea! Where’s this letter you mentioned? I know you too well, you wouldn’t let something like that slip by you."
"I burned it. I was afraid even a fragment might remain and lead to your execution."
"And destroy your career prospects too," Noirtier added knowingly. "Yes, I understand perfectly. But I have nothing to fear while you’re here to protect me."
"I’m doing better than protecting you, sir. I’m saving you."
"Are you now? This is getting more dramatic by the minute. Explain."
"I have to mention that Saint-Jacques group again."
"Seems like this group is causing the police some headaches. Why didn’t they investigate more thoroughly? They might have discovered-"
"They haven’t found anything yet, but they’re getting close."
"Ah yes, the usual line. When the police have no leads, they claim they’re ’getting close.’ Then the government waits patiently for them to come back later and sheepishly admit they’ve lost the trail entirely."
"But they did find something, a body. The general was killed, and in every country, that’s called murder."
"Murder? There’s no proof the general was murdered. People are found in the river all the time. Suicides, accidents, people who couldn’t swim."
"Father, you know perfectly well the general wasn’t the type to kill himself, and people don’t go swimming in January. No, don’t fool yourself. This was murder, plain and simple."
"And who made this determination?"
"The king himself."
"The king! I thought he was wise enough to understand that there’s no such thing as murder in politics. In politics, my dear boy, there are no individuals, only ideas. No personal feelings, only interests. In politics, we don’t kill a man, we simply remove an obstacle. Nothing more. Would you like to know what really happened? I’ll tell you.
"We thought General Quesnel could be trusted. He was recommended to us by our exiled leader. One of our people approached him and invited him to Saint-Jacques Street, where he’d meet some friends. He came, and we explained the entire plan, the escape, the planned return, everything. When he’d heard and understood everything completely, he said he was loyal to the current king.
"We all looked at each other. We made him swear an oath of secrecy, which he did, but so reluctantly it was almost insulting to make such a half-hearted promise. Still, we let him leave, completely free. But he never made it home. What does that mean? Simply that he got lost on his way back, nothing more.
"Murder? Really, Villefort, you surprise me. You, a prosecutor, building an accusation on such flimsy evidence! Did I ever say to you, when you were playing your role as a loyalist and executed one of my political allies, ’My son, you’ve committed murder?’ No, I said, ’Well done, sir. You’ve won this round. Tomorrow, perhaps, it will be our turn.’"
"But Father, be careful. When our turn comes, our revenge will be devastating."
"I don’t understand."
"You’re counting on the usurper’s return?"
"We are."
"You’re mistaken. He won’t advance twenty miles into the country before being followed, tracked down, and caught like a wild animal."
"My dear boy, the emperor is already on his way to Grenoble. By the 10th or 12th, he’ll be at Lyon, and by the 20th or 25th, he’ll be in Paris."
"The people will rise up against him."
"Yes, to welcome him."
"He only has a handful of men. Armies will be sent against him."
"Yes, to escort him to the capital. Really, Gérard, you’re being naive. You think you’re well-informed because the telegraph told you three days after his landing, ’The usurper has landed on the coast with several men. He’s being pursued.’ But where is he now? What’s he doing? You have no idea, and they’ll chase him all the way to Paris without firing a single shot."
"Grenoble and Lyon are loyal cities. They’ll block his path."
"Grenoble will open her gates to him with enthusiasm. All of Lyon will rush to welcome him. Believe me, we’re as well-informed as you are, and our intelligence network is just as good as yours. Want proof? You tried to hide your trip from me, yet I knew you’d arrived within half an hour of your passing through the city gates. You gave your address to no one but your driver, yet I have it anyway, and here I am, arriving just as you’re about to sit down for dinner. Ring for another place setting, and we’ll eat together."
Villefort stared at his father in amazement. "You really do seem remarkably well-informed."
"It’s simple enough. You people in power only have the resources that money can buy. We who are waiting for our chance have something far more powerful, absolute devotion to our cause."