THE next morning Dr. Procida came to see Vivienne. On her bended knees she implored him to let her go home. She told him that Vandemar was in the dungeon chamber, and that he would die unless she opened the door. She felt in her bosom for the paper and, finding it was gone, burst into hysterical exclamations. The doctor, who was a friend of Pascal, said:
“My poor young lady, you are labouring under an hallucination. You must take a sedative, or you will break down entirely.” He placed a bottle upon the table, saying: “I will send the nurse to administer it.”
No sooner had he left the room than Vivienne threw the bottle upon the stone floor. “It is a drug,” she cried, “and I will not take it.”
Dr. Procida told Madeline Villefort, his head nurse, to give the medicine to Vivienne. “I am going away for the day,” he continued, “as I have to see a patient in Ajaccio. I shall not be back until late this afternoon.”
The nurse went to Vivienne’s room. The young girl was strangely calm.
“The doctor has been called away for the day,” said Madeline, “and left you in my charge. Where is the medicine?”
Vivienne pointed to the floor.
“You are a rash girl,” said the nurse. “When I tell the doctor what you have done, he will put you in a strait-jacket or tie you to your bed.”
Vivienne did not notice the woman’s words; in fact, she appeared unconscious of her presence, and seemed lost in thought. Finally, she said in an undertone:
“What a terrible thing is the vendetta!”
“Terrible,” cried Madeline, who had overheard her, “I think it is glorious.” She drew a stiletto from the bosom of her dress. “Do you see that? I mean it for the woman who stole my husband. Villefort was a fool—I can forgive that—most men are. But she hated me and I hate her. I will kill her if we ever meet.”
Vivienne appeared interested. The woman held up the stiletto, looking at the glistening blade and sharp point. Vivienne arose from her chair, walked slowly to the barred window, and looked out. The nurse was too busy with thoughts of prospective vengeance to notice her movements. Vivienne retraced her steps, noiselessly, until she stood behind the chair where Madeline sat. Reaching over suddenly, she grasped the hilt of the stiletto and, with the strength of desperation, tore it from the woman’s hand.
“Do not move!” cried Vivienne. “I am going to leave this room and this house.” Madeline attempted to rise from her chair. “If you move, I will kill you,” cried Vivienne. “His life is everything to me—yours is as nothing.”
The nurse had left the door ajar. With a bound, Vivienne reached it, threw it open, and closed it quickly behind her. Then she remembered that the bolt was on the outside, and she pushed it into place. She heard Madeline’s cries as she ran down the corridor, and sent back a mocking laugh in response. She saw a side door opening into the garden—perhaps the front door was guarded—she would run no risks. Keeping her hand upon the hilt of the stiletto, she made her way through the garden, for she saw the maquis beyond. If she could reach that, she might rest until able to go on.
In the heart of the forest she sank down, exhausted; but the young recuperate quickly, and she was soon up and again on her way, towards Ajaccio she hoped. She had never studied astronomy, but from the position of the sun she reasoned that she must go in a certain direction, and events proved that her intuition was correct. She soon came to a narrow cross-road, which she followed, and in a short time found herself on what she thought must be the main street of Salvanetra.
Vivienne would have turned back from the travelled thoroughfare and tried to make her way through the paths in the maquis, but for two reasons: She was afraid she might be captured by a party of bandits who, knowing that her brother was wealthy, would hold her for a large ransom; again, she was faint and almost exhausted, for she had refused to eat anything while in Dr. Procida’s asylum. She stood irresolute for a while; then soliloquised:
“I must gain strength so that I may get back in time to save Vandemar; and to gain strength I must have food.”
She walked on, scanning carefully each house that she passed, yet undecided as to which she should apply for assistance. Espying in the road a small branch of a tree, which had probably been used by some carter as a whip, she picked it up, and using it as a staff, got on her way much faster.
She saw that she was nearing a line of houses and felt that she must put pride away and make her appeal. She tapped lightly upon a door with her staff. It was opened by a woman, whose face had a sharp, shrewish expression. Vivienne’s first impulse was to turn away, but summoning all her strength and courage, she said:
“Will you be so kind, madame, as to give me a piece of bread? I am so tired and faint, for I have eaten nothing since yesterday.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, do not ask me my name. I am not a beggar. Believe me, I am not what I seem. Only give me a crust and I will go.”
“Honest people are not afraid to tell their names,” said the woman, and her voice was harsh and repellent.
“It is because I am honest that I do not tell you my name. I might give you one easily, but it would not be my own.”
“Then go away!” cried the woman. “No doubt you have been turned away from some farmhouse for drunkenness, theft, or something of that sort. Be off with you!” and she slammed the door.
Vivienne had on the simplest and coarsest dress that belonged to her. Her brother Pascal had thoughtfully sent some of her clothing in the carriage, and although he had not made the selections his sister would have wished, yet he could not have done better, for Vivienne had determined, from the first, to escape from the asylum, and the unpretending costume which she wore served her purpose much better than the one in which she had looked so beautiful at her birthday party would have done.
Vivienne turned away from the door sick at heart. “Oh, Pascal, I could wish you no greater punishment for your sin against your wretched sister than for you to have heard those terrible words.”
Her head was aching and she pressed both hands upon her forehead:
“No, I must not sink down here in the street; they would shut me up in the jail. I will—I must obtain food. Even a morsel would give me strength to reach him. Why should I die with the cool fresh air about me, and the sun giving me light, while he is shrouded in darkness and dying from hunger and thirst in a living tomb? Oh, Vandemar, Vandemar, I will not die! There is a kind soul in this house, for I hear the laughter of children. A mother’s heart is always open to pity.”
A man servant appeared at the door. “What is your business here, my good woman?”
“Oh, sir, I am very hungry. Give me some food and Heaven will bless you!”
“My mistress is sick,” said the man, “but I will send the housekeeper to you.”
“Thank you; you are very kind.” Vivienne leaned against the door-post. “I—I cannot stand; my strength is deserting me.” As she sank on the doorstep, a woman appeared.
“Well, what is wanted?” was her query. “Begging, I suppose.”
“I wish only for a piece of bread, madame. You will surely not refuse me. I have walked so far and I am faint and tired—oh, so very tired. I pray that you will give me something, even the poorest crust from your table.”
“I understand it all—you have escaped from the asylum. Where are you going?”
“To my home at Ajaccio,” Vivienne answered. “Oh, madame, do not question me, but give me food. I—I feel strangely—I am——”
“She is fainting,” said the man; “I will bring her a glass of water.”
The woman looked at Vivienne closely and said:
“Your pretty face ought to win you bread, if not jewels. You are a fool to go begging, with such beauty as yours. If I had your face and form I would ride in my carriage. There would be no more house drudgery for me.”
Vivienne drank the water, which was cool and refreshing. A little girl, who had been regarding her from the opposite side of the road, came running across and said:
“Come with me, poor woman. My mamma is away, but cook will give you something to eat. She is good to everybody, and so is my mamma. Come!”
“Bless you, sweet child!” said Vivienne, rising.
The woman resented the child’s interference: “You are a forward little minx! As though I would refuse her food! Come in, and I will give you all you want.”
Vivienne looked at the woman, her great black eyes full of the loathing she felt.
“After what you have said? No, madame, food from your hands would choke me.”
Vivienne turned away, took the little girl’s hand, and they walked slowly towards the pretty little cottage to which the child pointed, saying over and over again: “That’s where mamma lives.”
Vivienne had no sooner reached the house where she had been promised food and rest than her head swam, she lost consciousness, and fell helpless upon the floor. When she revived she heard the sound of voices. She opened her eyes and saw that she was in a darkened room. An old gentleman sat beside her, while a lady, with a kind, motherly look upon her face, stood at the foot of the bed regarding her.
“You are better, my dear. The doctor, here, said that if you awoke in your right mind all would be well. You are better, are you not?”
Vivienne could not resist answering a question put so pleasantly.
“I am feeling quite well, madame,” she replied. Then in an instant all came back to her. She raised herself in bed and cried:
“Where am I? Have I been sick? For God’s sake, dear lady, tell me how long I have been here.”
“My little daughter brought you here three days ago,” was the answer.
“Three days! Three days!!” moaned Vivienne. “It is too late now. He is dead—dead!”
“But you are living,” said the doctor. “Who is dead? I do not understand you.”
“Oh,” cried Vivienne, “I must tell you all, for I know that I can trust you. If I do not, you will not know what I mean. I am Vivienne Batistelli, of Alfieri.”
“I thought so,” said the lady in an undertone.
“You know of the vendetta between the Batistellis and the Della Coscias?”
The doctor nodded.
“Vandemar Della Coscia came back to Corsica. His identity was discovered by my brother Pascal. Vandemar has been in the dungeon chamber for five days without food or drink. I am the only one who can open the dungeon door and release him. I must go to him at once. Help me! Help me!! He must not die!”
“What can we do, Doctor?” asked the lady.
“My horse and carriage are at the door. My dear young lady, get ready at once, and I will take you to Alfieri.”
When Vivienne reached the castle, she at once sought Clarine, who was overjoyed at seeing her again.
“Where have you been?” she asked, excitedly.
“I cannot stop to tell you now,” said Vivienne. “Where is my brother Pascal?”
“That I do not know,” was the reply. “He has gone away.”
“Oh, Clarine,” said Vivienne, “I must open the door of the dungeon chamber, but I have lost the paper that you gave me. Have you found it?”
“Why, no,” said Clarine, “but I surmise, from what he has let drop, that Manassa knows something about it.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Vivienne.
“I do not know,” said Clarine, “but if he has it he will not give it to you. He says you are no longer a Batistelli—that you love a Della Coscia and have disgraced your name.”
“Oh, Clarine, I shall pray to God to give me back my memory, so that I may open that door and save his life——” and she ran from the room.