Heaving a deep sigh, Espérance replied: "Yes, you are right, Zuleika; it is my duty to tell you all--and yet I cannot!"
"At least, tell me why you are compelled to maintain silence on a matter of so much importance."
"Did you question the Viscount?"
"I did."
"And what answer did he return?"
"Like you, he refused to answer."
"Ah! then he has some sense of shame left!"
"Shame?"
"Yes, shame! And what did you do when he refused to speak?"
"I left him."
"And you will not see him again?"
"Not until he has decided to tell me all."
"Then you will never put eyes upon him more; he dare not tell you!"
"Dare not! And why?"
"Because, did you know the depth of his infamy, you would spurn him from you!"
Suddenly a grave suspicion stole into Zuleika's mind and made her tremble from head to foot. Might it not be that Espérance had been as deeply involved in the mysterious and infamous affair of which he declined to speak as Giovanni Massetti himself? The thought was torment, and totally unable to restrain her keen anxiety to be instantly informed upon this topic, Zuleika gasped out: "Were you not, Espérance, as guilty as your former friend?"
The young man leaped to his feet as if a tarantula had bitten him.
"No, no!" cried he. "I was innocent of all blame in the matter! Luigi Vampa----"
He abruptly checked himself and stood staring at his sister, as if in dismay at having unguardedly uttered the brigand's name.
But Zuleika said nothing. Giovanni Massetti also had protested his innocence, and the young girl knew not what to believe. Luigi Vampa? So then he had been a party to this mysterious and terrible business, whatever it was! And again she thought of the abduction of the beautiful peasant girl. Could that be the fearful secret? Yes, it must be. Luigi Vampa had assisted in that abduction, if report could be relied on, and the chief criminal had been a youthful member of the Roman aristocracy. Oh! it was all plain now. Zuleika shuddered and felt her heart grow heavy as lead, while a sharp, killing pang ran through it. Had Espérance been misled by Vampa and the Viscount? Had he discovered too late the infamy of the affair and challenged Massetti on that account? This was, doubtless, the solution of the whole enigma, and yet Zuleika hesitated to accept it as such. No, no, she could not accept it without further and more convincing proof! But how was that proof to be obtained? Neither the Viscount nor her brother would speak; it was evident that their lips were sealed; possibly an oath to maintain silence had been extorted from them under terrible circumstances--an oath they feared to break even to clear themselves from a foul suspicion. But Vampa? He might, perhaps, be induced to give the key to the mystery. Vampa, however, was far away in Rome and inaccessible. Zuleika made a wild resolve--she would write to the brigand and throw herself upon his generosity; then she decided that the plan was impracticable; her letter would never reach Vampa--it would be seized by the Roman authorities and might cause additional trouble by reviving a smothered scandal--and even should it reach the brigand, would he answer it? The chances were a hundred to one that he would not. At this instant an inspiration came to the tortured girl like a flash of lightning. Her father had known Vampa in the past, and, perhaps, still possessed some influence over him. She had heard the story of Albert de Morcerf's adventure in the catacombs of Saint Sebastian, and was aware that the brigand chief had released him from captivity without ransom at her father's simple solicitation. Would not Vampa answer her questions if M. Dantès could be influenced to write him and ask them? She had full faith in her father's power to get a letter to the bandit notwithstanding all the vigilance of the Roman authorities. Yes, she would go to him, tell all her suspicions without reserve and beg him to write the letter; it was hardly likely he would refuse; he could not, he must not. Thus resolved, Zuleika looked her brother full in the face and said, calmly: "I see I torture you with my questions, Espérance, that for some reason best known to yourself you cannot answer them, and that it is useless to torment you further. But something must be done and that at once. I am going to my father!"