The Count's Daughter

Meeting the Count

Every one of power in Paris had been all abuzz about a grand ball that was to take place at the residents of the newest Count to move to the city of Paris. It's all anyone, even those who were not lucky enough to receive an invitation, could talk about. The stories of the Count filled the streets of Paris, so much so even a common street beggar like myself heard about the Count. The advantage of this was that no one noticed me sneaking by and stealing things of value, they are too busy talking about the Fabulous Count.

The night of the party, the streets of Paris were empty as I walk along the streets to my home, which is the attic of a house that is falling apart, but beggars cannot be choosers. As I settle in for the night, looking up at the sky, I see fireworks light up the sky. They are beautiful, in every color imaginable. I lay there watching the light from them until they stop, then head to bed.

The next morning I wake early, as I always do. When I get on the streets they are packed with people, going about their day. I hear a few people speaking of their night at the Count's party, but I've heard enough of the Count and try my best to tune them out. But, again, their stories allow me to sneak by and steal wallets and out of purses. After a few hours, I have about 20 euros, which is pretty good for a mornings work. Normally, I only get this much after a few days, since most of what I steal and find is change.

When I start to make my exit of the streets I spot a Spanish man on the edge of the crowd. As I pass him, he grabs my arm, taking a firm grip on it, speaking to me with a Spanish accent, "if you do not wish to be turned in as the thief you are, I suggest you keep quiet and come with me." The man walks me over to a rather nice carriage and opens the door, "get in."

I shake my head, "Monsieur, I am not a...."

The man cuts me off, "I know you are not. That is not why you are being taken. Now, get in," the man's tone harshens and I follow his command.

As I glance up into the carriage, I see that there is a man in the carriage, from what I can see he is dressed very expensively. Once I am in the carriage the Spanish man closes the door and climbs onto the front before we begin to move. After a few minutes, the man in the carriage breaks the silence, "what is your name, manquer?"

I glance over to the man, having been looking out the window of the carriage, "Clara Arielle."

The man nods, "Arielle, is that a middle name or a last name?"

"Middle, monsieur," I shift myself so that I am facing the man.

"How old are you, manquer?"

"Fifteen, Monsieur."

"Fifteen and on the streets of Paris alone. Where are your parents?" I don't answer the man but instead look down. I had lost my parents almost a year before. The man nods, "I am very sorry." the man clears his throat, "I have a proposal for you."

I look over to man a little confused and concerned, "Monsieur, I tried to tell your driver, but I am not for sale."

The man shakes his head, "everyone is for a price, manquer. You will learn that very soon. Lucky for you that is not what I am proposing. No, I wish for you to pose as my daughter. In return, you will be paid, given a place to stay and anything you could wish for."

I look over to the man, still confused, "who are you, monsieur?"

The man leans forward and brings his face into the light. His face looks weathered as if he's seen a lifetime of horrors, but he himself doesn't look much older then 37. "I am the Count of Monte Cristo," he smirks behind a very neat Van Dyke beard.

"Why me? Why not one of the hundreds of orphans in Paris?"

"Because that leaves a paper trail. I need someone who can pose as my blood daughter. Someone who won't think twice about what needs to be done and since you have been living on the streets you know that all too well."