The Count of Monte Cristo
by Alexandre Dumas (Pere)
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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"But it is not so easy to forget, monsieur, that the very
next day after your princely gift you saved the life of my
dear friend, Madame de Villefort, which was endangered by
the very animals your generosity restored to me."

"This time, at least, I do not deserve your thanks. It was
Ali, my Nubian slave, who rendered this service to Madame de
Villefort."

"Was it Ali," asked the Count of Morcerf, "who rescued my
son from the hands of bandits?"

"No, count," replied Monte Cristo taking the hand held out
to him by the general; "in this instance I may fairly and
freely accept your thanks; but you have already tendered
them, and fully discharged your debt -- if indeed there
existed one -- and I feel almost mortified to find you still
reverting to the subject. May I beg of you, baroness, to
honor me with an introduction to your daughter?"

"Oh, you are no stranger -- at least not by name," replied
Madame Danglars, "and the last two or three days we have
really talked of nothing but you. Eugenie," continued the
baroness, turning towards her daughter, "this is the Count
of Monte Cristo." The Count bowed, while Mademoiselle
Danglars bent her head slightly. "You have a charming young
person with you to-night, count," said Eugenie. "Is she your
daughter?"

"No, mademoiselle," said Monte Cristo, astonished at the
coolness and freedom of the question. "She is a poor
unfortunate Greek left under my care."

"And what is her name?"

"Haidee," replied Monte Cristo.

"A Greek?" murmured the Count of Morcerf.

"Yes, indeed, count," said Madame Danglars; "and tell me,
did you ever see at the court of Ali Tepelini, whom you so
gloriously and valiantly served, a more exquisite beauty or
richer costume?"

"Did I hear rightly, monsieur," said Monte Cristo "that you
served at Yanina?"

"I was inspector-general of the pasha's troops," replied
Morcerf; "and it is no secret that I owe my fortune, such as
it is, to the liberality of the illustrious Albanese chief."

"But look!" exclaimed Madame Danglars.

"Where?" stammered Morcerf.

"There," said Monte Cristo placing his arms around the
count, and leaning with him over the front of the box, just
as Haidee, whose eyes were occupied in examining the theatre
in search of her guardian, perceived his pale features close
to Morcerf's face. It was as if the young girl beheld the
head of Medusa. She bent forwards as though to assure
herself of the reality of what she saw, then, uttering a
faint cry, threw herself back in her seat. The sound was
heard by the people about Ali, who instantly opened the
box-door. "Why, count," exclaimed Eugenie, "what has
happened to your ward? she seems to have been taken suddenly
ill."

"Very probably," answered the count. "But do not be alarmed
on her account. Haidee's nervous system is delicately
organized, and she is peculiarly susceptible to the odors
even of flowers -- nay, there are some which cause her to
faint if brought into her presence. However," continued
Monte Cristo, drawing a small phial from his pocket, "I have
an infallible remedy." So saying, he bowed to the baroness
and her daughter, exchanged a parting shake of the hand with
Debray and the count, and left Madame Danglars' box. Upon
his return to Haidee he found her still very pale. As soon
as she saw him she seized his hand; her own hands were moist
and icy cold. "Who was it you were talking with over there?"
she asked.

"With the Count of Morcerf," answered Monte Cristo. "He
tells me he served your illustrious father, and that he owes
his fortune to him."

"Wretch!" exclaimed Haidee, her eyes flashing with rage; "he
sold my father to the Turks, and the fortune he boasts of
was the price of his treachery! Did not you know that, my
dear lord?"

"Something of this I heard in Epirus," said Monte Cristo;
"but the particulars are still unknown to me. You shall
relate them to me, my child. They are, no doubt, both
curious and interesting."

"Yes, yes; but let us go. I feel as though it would kill me
to remain long near that dreadful man." So saying, Haidee
arose, and wrapping herself in her burnoose of white
cashmire embroidered with pearls and coral, she hastily
quitted the box at the moment when the curtain was rising
upon the fourth act.

"Do you observe," said the Countess G---- to Albert, who
had returned to her side, "that man does nothing like other
people; he listens most devoutly to the third act of `Robert
le Diable,' and when the fourth begins, takes his
departure."

Chapter 54
A Flurry in Stocks.

Some days after this meeting, Albert de Morcerf visited the
Count of Monte Cristo at his house in the Champs Elysees,
which had already assumed that palace-like appearance which
the count's princely fortune enabled him to give even to his
most temporary residences. He came to renew the thanks of
Madame Danglars which had been already conveyed to the count
through the medium of a letter, signed "Baronne Danglars,
nee Hermine de Servieux." Albert was accompanied by Lucien
Debray, who, joining in his friend's conversation, added
some passing compliments, the source of which the count's
talent for finesse easily enabled him to guess. He was
convinced that Lucien's visit was due to a double feeling of
curiosity, the larger half of which sentiment emanated from
the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin. In short, Madame Danglars,
not being able personally to examine in detail the domestic
economy and household arrangements of a man who gave away
horses worth 30,000 francs and who went to the opera with a
Greek slave wearing diamonds to the amount of a million of
money, had deputed those eyes, by which she was accustomed
to see, to give her a faithful account of the mode of life
of this incomprehensible person. But the count did not
appear to suspect that there could be the slightest
connection between Lucien's visit and the curiosity of the
baroness.

"You are in constant communication with the Baron Danglars?"
the count inquired of Albert de Morcerf.

"Yes, count, you know what I told you?"

"All remains the same, then, in that quarter?"

"It is more than ever a settled thing," said Lucien, -- and,
considering that this remark was all that he was at that
time called upon to make, he adjusted the glass to his eye,
and biting the top of his gold headed cane, began to make
the tour of the apartment, examining the arms and the
pictures.

"Ah," said Monte Cristo "I did not expect that the affair
would be so promptly concluded."

"Oh, things take their course without our assistance. While
we are forgetting them, they are falling into their
appointed order; and when, again, our attention is directed
to them, we are surprised at the progress they have made
towards the proposed end. My father and M. Danglars served
together in Spain, my father in the army and M. Danglars in
the commissariat department. It was there that my father,
ruined by the revolution, and M. Danglars, who never had
possessed any patrimony, both laid the foundations of their
different fortunes."

"Yes," said Monte Cristo "I think M. Danglars mentioned that
in a visit which I paid him; and," continued he, casting a
side-glance at Lucien, who was turning over the leaves of an
album, "Mademoiselle Eugenie is pretty -- I think I remember
that to be her name."

"Very pretty, or rather, very beautiful," replied Albert,
"but of that style of beauty which I do not appreciate; I am
an ungrateful fellow."

"You speak as if you were already her husband."

"Ah," returned Albert, in his turn looking around to see
what Lucien was doing.

"Really," said Monte Cristo, lowering his voice, "you do not
appear to me to be very enthusiastic on the subject of this
marriage."

"Mademoiselle Danglars is too rich for me," replied Morcerf,
"and that frightens me."

"Bah," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "that's a fine reason to
give. Are you not rich yourself?"

"My father's income is about 50,000 francs per annum; and he
will give me, perhaps, ten or twelve thousand when I marry."

"That, perhaps, might not be considered a large sum, in
Paris especially," said the count; "but everything does not
depend on wealth, and it is a fine thing to have a good
name, and to occupy a high station in society. Your name is
celebrated, your position magnificent; and then the Comte de
Morcerf is a soldier, and it is pleasing to see the
integrity of a Bayard united to the poverty of a Duguesclin;
disinterestedness is the brightest ray in which a noble
sword can shine. As for me, I consider the union with
Mademoiselle Danglars a most suitable one; she will enrich
you, and you will ennoble her." Albert shook his head, and
looked thoughtful. "There is still something else," said he.

"I confess," observed Monte Cristo, "that I have some
difficulty in comprehending your objection to a young lady
who is both rich and beautiful."

"Oh," said Morcerf, "this repugnance, if repugnance it may
be called, is not all on my side."

"Whence can it arise, then? for you told me your father
desired the marriage."

"It is my mother who dissents; she has a clear and
penetrating judgment, and does not smile on the proposed
union. I cannot account for it, but she seems to entertain
some prejudice against the Danglars."

"Ah," said the count, in a somewhat forced tone, "that may
be easily explained; the Comtesse de Morcerf, who is
aristocracy and refinement itself, does not relish the idea
of being allied by your marriage with one of ignoble birth;
that is natural enough."

"I do not know if that is her reason," said Albert, "but one
thing I do know, that if this marriage be consummated, it
will render her quite miserable. There was to have been a
meeting six weeks ago in order to talk over and settle the
affair; but I had such a sudden attack of indisposition" --

"Real?" interrupted the count, smiling.

"Oh, real enough, from anxiety doubtless, -- at any rate
they postponed the matter for two months. There is no hurry,
you know. I am not yet twenty-one, and Eugenie is only
seventeen; but the two months expire next week. It must be
done. My dear count, you cannot imagine now my mind is
harassed. How happy you are in being exempt from all this!"

"Well, and why should not you be free, too? What prevents
you from being so?"

"Oh, it will be too great a disappointment to my father if I
do not marry Mademoiselle Danglars."

"Marry her then," said the count, with a significant shrug
of the shoulders.

"Yes," replied Morcerf, "but that will plunge my mother into
positive grief."

"Then do not marry her," said the count.

"Well, I shall see. I will try and think over what is the
best thing to be done; you will give me your advice, will
you not, and if possible extricate me from my unpleasant
position? I think, rather than give pain to my dear mother,
I would run the risk of offending the count." Monte Cristo
turned away; he seemed moved by this last remark. "Ah," said
he to Debray, who had thrown himself into an easy-chair at
the farthest extremity of the salon, and who held a pencil
in his right hand and an account book in his left, "what are
you doing there? Are you making a sketch after Poussin?"

"Oh, no," was the tranquil response; "I am too fond of art
to attempt anything of that sort. I am doing a little sum in
arithmetic."

"In arithmetic?"

"Yes; I am calculating -- by the way, Morcerf, that
indirectly concerns you -- I am calculating what the house
of Danglars must have gained by the last rise in Haiti
bonds; from 206 they have risen to 409 in three days, and
the prudent banker had purchased at 206; therefore he must
have made 300,000 livres."

"That is not his biggest scoop," said Morcerf; "did he not
make a million in Spaniards this last year?"

"My dear fellow," said Lucien, "here is the Count of Monte
Cristo, who will say to you, as the Italians do, --

"`Danaro e santita,
Meta della meta.'*

* "Money and sanctity,
Each in a moiety.

"When they tell me such things, I only shrug my shoulders
and say nothing."

"But you were speaking of Haitians?" said Monte Cristo.

"Ah, Haitians, -- that is quite another thing! Haitians are
the ecarte of French stock-jobbing. We may like bouillotte,
delight in whist, be enraptured with boston, and yet grow
tired of them all; but we always come back to ecarte -- it
is not only a game, it is a hors-d'oeuvre! M. Danglars sold
yesterday at 405, and pockets 300,000 francs. Had he but
waited till to-day, the price would have fallen to 205, and
instead of gaining 300,000 francs, he would have lost 20 or
25,000."

"And what has caused the sudden fall from 409 to 206?" asked
Monte Cristo. "I am profoundly ignorant of all these
stock-jobbing intrigues."

"Because," said Albert, laughing, "one piece of news follows
another, and there is often great dissimilarity between
them."

"Ah," said the count, "I see that M. Danglars is accustomed
to play at gaining or losing 300,000 francs in a day; he
must be enormously rich."

"It is not he who plays!" exclaimed Lucien; "it is Madame
Danglars: she is indeed daring."

"But you who are a reasonable being, Lucien, and who know
how little dependence is to be placed on the news, since you
are at the fountain-head, surely you ought to prevent it,"
said Morcerf, with a smile.

"How can I, if her husband fails in controlling her?" asked
Lucien; "you know the character of the baroness -- no one
has any influence with her, and she does precisely what she
pleases."

"Ah, if I were in your place" -- said Albert.

"Well?"

"I would reform her; it would be rendering a service to her
future son-in-law."

"How would you set about it?"

"Ah, that would be easy enough -- I would give her a
lesson."

"A lesson?"

"Yes. Your position as secretary to the minister renders
your authority great on the subject of political news; you
never open your mouth but the stockbrokers immediately
stenograph your words. Cause her to lose a hundred thousand
francs, and that would teach her prudence."

"I do not understand," stammered Lucien.

"It is very clear, notwithstanding," replied the young man,
with an artlessness wholly free from affectation; "tell her
some fine morning an unheard-of piece of intelligence --
some telegraphic despatch, of which you alone are in
possession; for instance, that Henri IV. was seen yesterday
at Gabrielle's. That would boom the market; she will buy
heavily, and she will certainly lose when Beauchamp
announces the following day, in his gazette, `The report
circulated by some usually well-informed persons that the
king was seen yesterday at Gabrielle's house, is totally
without foundation. We can positively assert that his
majesty did not quit the Pont-Neuf.'" Lucien half smiled.
Monte Cristo, although apparently indifferent, had not lost
one word of this conversation, and his penetrating eye had
even read a hidden secret in the embarrassed manner of the
secretary. This embarrassment had completely escaped Albert,
but it caused Lucien to shorten his visit; he was evidently
ill at ease. The count, in taking leave of him, said
something in a low voice, to which he answered, "Willingly,
count; I accept." The count returned to young Morcerf.

"Do you not think, on reflection," said he to him, "that you
have done wrong in thus speaking of your mother-in-law in
the presence of M. Debray?"

"My dear count," said Morcerf, "I beg of you not to apply
that title so prematurely."

"Now, speaking without any exaggeration, is your mother
really so very much averse to this marriage?"

"So much so that the baroness very rarely comes to the
house, and my mother, has not, I think, visited Madame
Danglars twice in her whole life."

"Then," said the count, "I am emboldened to speak openly to
you. M. Danglars is my banker; M. de Villefort has
overwhelmed me with politeness in return for a service which
a casual piece of good fortune enabled me to render him. I
predict from all this an avalanche of dinners and routs.
Now, in order not to presume on this, and also to be
beforehand with them, I have, if agreeable to you, thought
of inviting M. and Madame Danglars, and M. and Madame de
Villefort, to my country-house at Auteuil. If I were to
invite you and the Count and Countess of Morcerf to this
dinner, I should give it the appearance of being a
matrimonial meeting, or at least Madame de Morcerf would
look upon the affair in that light, especially if Baron
Danglars did me the honor to bring his daughter. In that
case your mother would hold me in aversion, and I do not at
all wish that; on the contrary, I desire to stand high in
her esteem."

"Indeed, count," said Morcerf, "I thank you sincerely for
having used so much candor towards me, and I gratefully
accept the exclusion which you propose. You say you desire
my mother's good opinion; I assure you it is already yours
to a very unusual extent."

"Do you think so?" said Monte Cristo, with interest.

"Oh, I am sure of it; we talked of you an hour after you
left us the other day. But to return to what we were saying.
If my mother could know of this attention on your part --
and I will venture to tell her -- I am sure that she will be
most grateful to you; it is true that my father will be
equally angry." The count laughed. "Well," said he to
Morcerf, "but I think your father will not be the only angry
one; M. and Madame Danglars will think me a very
ill-mannered person. They know that I am intimate with you
-- that you are, in fact; one of the oldest of my Parisian
acquaintances -- and they will not find you at my house;
they will certainly ask me why I did not invite you. Be sure
to provide yourself with some previous engagement which
shall have a semblance of probability, and communicate the
fact to me by a line in writing. You know that with bankers
nothing but a written document will be valid."

"I will do better than that," said Albert; "my mother is
wishing to go to the sea-side -- what day is fixed for your
dinner?"

"Saturday."

"This is Tuesday -- well, to-morrow evening we leave, and
the day after we shall be at Treport. Really, count, you
have a delightful way of setting people at their ease."

"Indeed, you give me more credit than I deserve; I only wish
to do what will be agreeable to you, that is all."

"When shall you send your invitations?"

"This very day."

"Well, I will immediately call on M. Danglars, and tell him
that my mother and myself must leave Paris to-morrow. I have
not seen you, consequently I know nothing of your dinner."

"How foolish you are! Have you forgotten that M. Debray has
just seen you at my house?"

"Ah, true,"

"Fix it this way. I have seen you, and invited you without
any ceremony, when you instantly answered that it would be
impossible for you to accept, as you were going to Treport."

"Well, then, that is settled; but you will come and call on
my mother before to-morrow?"

"Before to-morrow? -- that will be a difficult matter to
arrange, besides, I shall just be in the way of all the
preparations for departure."

"Well, you can do better. You were only a charming man
before, but, if you accede to my proposal, you will be
adorable."

"What must I do to attain such sublimity?"

"You are to-day free as air -- come and dine with me; we
shall be a small party -- only yourself, my mother, and I.
You have scarcely seen my mother; you shall have an
opportunity of observing her more closely. She is a
remarkable woman, and I only regret that there does not
exist another like her, about twenty years younger; in that
case, I assure you, there would very soon be a Countess and
Viscountess of Morcerf. As to my father, you will not see
him; he is officially engaged, and dines with the chief
referendary. We will talk over our travels; and you, who
have seen the whole world, will relate your adventures --
you shall tell us the history of the beautiful Greek who was
with you the other night at the Opera, and whom you call
your slave, and yet treat like a princess. We will talk
Italian and Spanish. Come, accept my invitation, and my
mother will thank you."

"A thousand thanks," said the count, "your invitation is
most gracious, and I regret exceedingly that it is not in my
power to accept it. I am not so much at liberty as you
suppose; on the contrary, I have a most important
engagement."

"Ah, take care, you were teaching me just now how, in case
of an invitation to dinner, one might creditably make an
excuse. I require the proof of a pre-engagement. I am not a
banker, like M. Danglars, but I am quite as incredulous as
he is."

"I am going to give you a proof," replied the count, and he
rang the bell.

"Humph," said Morcerf, "this is the second time you have
refused to dine with my mother; it is evident that you wish
to avoid her." Monte Cristo started. "Oh, you do not mean
that," said he; "besides, here comes the confirmation of my
assertion." Baptistin entered, and remained standing at the
door. "I had no previous knowledge of your visit, had I?"

"Indeed, you are such an extraordinary person, that I would
not answer for it."

"At all events, I could not guess that you would invite me
to dinner."

"Probably not."

"Well, listen, Baptistin, what did I tell you this morning
when I called you into my laboratory?"

"To close the door against visitors as soon as the clock
struck five," replied the valet.

"What then?"

"Ah, my dear count," said Albert.

"No, no, I wish to do away with that mysterious reputation
that you have given me, my dear viscount; it is tiresome to
be always acting Manfred. I wish my life to be free and
open. Go on, Baptistin."

"Then to admit no one except Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and
his son."

"You hear -- Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti -- a man who ranks
amongst the most ancient nobility of Italy, whose name Dante
has celebrated in the tenth canto of `The Inferno,' you
remember it, do you not? Then there is his son, Andrea, a
charming young man, about your own age, viscount, bearing
the same title as yourself, and who is making his entry into
the Parisian world, aided by his father's millions. The
major will bring his son with him this evening, the contino,
as we say in Italy; he confides him to my care. If he proves
himself worthy of it, I will do what I can to advance his
interests. You will assist me in the work, will you not?"

"Most undoubtedly. This Major Cavalcanti is an old friend of
yours, then?"

"By no means. He is a perfect nobleman, very polite, modest,
and agreeable, such as may be found constantly in Italy,
descendants of very ancient families. I have met him several
times at Florence, Bologna and Lucca, and he has now
communicated to me the fact of his arrival in Paris. The
acquaintances one makes in travelling have a sort of claim
on one; they everywhere expect to receive the same attention
which you once paid them by chance, as though the civilities
of a passing hour were likely to awaken any lasting interest
in favor of the man in whose society you may happen to be
thrown in the course of your journey. This good Major
Cavalcanti is come to take a second view of Paris, which he
only saw in passing through in the time of the Empire, when
he was on his way to Moscow. I shall give him a good dinner,
he will confide his son to my care, I will promise to watch
over him, I shall let him follow in whatever path his folly
may lead him, and then I shall have done my part."

"Certainly; I see you are a model Mentor," said Albert
"Good-by, we shall return on Sunday. By the way, I have
received news of Franz."

"Have you? Is he still amusing himself in Italy?"

"I believe so; however, he regrets your absence extremely .
He says you were the sun of Rome, and that without you all
appears dark and cloudy; I do not know if he does not even
go so far as to say that it rains."

"His opinion of me is altered for the better, then?"

"No, he still persists in looking upon you as the most
incomprehensible and mysterious of beings."

"He is a charming young man," said Monte Cristo "and I felt
a lively interest in him the very first evening of my
introduction, when I met him in search of a supper, and
prevailed upon him to accept a portion of mine. He is, I
think, the son of General d'Epinay?"

"He is."

"The same who was so shamefully assassinated in 1815?"

"By the Bonapartists."

"Yes. Really I like him extremely; is there not also a
matrimonial engagement contemplated for him?"

"Yes, he is to marry Mademoiselle de Villefort."

"Indeed?"

"And you know I am to marry Mademoiselle Danglars," said
Albert, laughing.

"You smile."

"Yes."

"Why do you do so?"

"I smile because there appears to me to be about as much
inclination for the consummation of the engagement in
question as there is for my own. But really, my dear count,
we are talking as much of women as they do of us; it is
unpardonable." Albert rose.

"Are you going?"

"Really, that is a good idea! -- two hours have I been
boring you to death with my company, and then you, with the
greatest politeness, ask me if I am going. Indeed, count,
you are the most polished man in the world. And your
servants, too, how very well behaved they are; there is
quite a style about them. Monsieur Baptistin especially; I
could never get such a man as that. My servants seem to
imitate those you sometimes see in a play, who, because they
have only a word or two to say, aquit themselves in the most
awkward manner possible. Therefore, if you part with M.
Baptistin, give me the refusal of him."

"By all means."

"That is not all; give my compliments to your illustrious
Luccanese, Cavalcante of the Cavalcanti; and if by any
chance he should be wishing to establish his son, find him a
wife very rich, very noble on her mother's side at least,
and a baroness in right of her father, I will help you in
the search."

"Ah, ha; you will do as much as that, will you?"

"Yes."

"Well, really, nothing is certain in this world."

"Oh, count, what a service you might render me! I should
like you a hundred times better if, by your intervention, I
could manage to remain a bachelor, even were it only for ten
years."

"Nothing is impossible," gravely replied Monte Cristo; and
taking leave of Albert, he returned into the house, and
struck the gong three times. Bertuccio appeared. "Monsieur
Bertuccio, you understand that I intend entertaining company
on Saturday at Auteuil." Bertuccio slightly started. "I
shall require your services to see that all be properly
arranged. It is a beautiful house, or at all events may be
made so."

"There must be a good deal done before it can deserve that
title, your excellency, for the tapestried hangings are very
old."

"Let them all be taken away and changed, then, with the
exception of the sleeping-chamber which is hung with red
damask; you will leave that exactly as it is." Bertuccio
bowed. "You will not touch the garden either; as to the
yard, you may do what you please with it; I should prefer
that being altered beyond all recognition."

"I will do everything in my power to carry out your wishes,
your excellency. I should be glad, however, to receive your
excellency's commands concerning the dinner."

"Really, my dear M. Bertuccio," said the count, "since you
have been in Paris, you have become quite nervous, and
apparently out of your element; you no longer seem to
understand me."

"But surely your excellency will be so good as to inform me
whom you are expecting to receive?"

"I do not yet know myself, neither is it necessary that you
should do so. `Lucullus dines with Lucullus,' that is quite
sufficient." Bertuccio bowed, and left the room.

Chapter 55
Major Cavalcanti.

Both the count and Baptistin had told the truth when they
announced to Morcerf the proposed visit of the major, which
had served Monte Cristo as a pretext for declining Albert's
invitation. Seven o'clock had just struck, and M. Bertuccio,
according to the command which had been given him, had two
hours before left for Auteuil, when a cab stopped at the
door, and after depositing its occupant at the gate,
immediately hurried away, as if ashamed of its employment.
The visitor was about fifty-two years of age, dressed in one
of the green surtouts, ornamented with black frogs, which
have so long maintained their popularity all over Europe. He
wore trousers of blue cloth, boots tolerably clean, but not
of the brightest polish, and a little too thick in the
soles, buckskin gloves, a hat somewhat resembling in shape
those usually worn by the gendarmes, and a black cravat
striped with white, which, if the proprietor had not worn it
of his own free will, might have passed for a halter, so
much did it resemble one. Such was the picturesque costume
of the person who rang at the gate, and demanded if it was
not at No. 30 in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees that the
Count of Monte Cristo lived, and who, being answered by the
porter in the affirmative, entered, closed the gate after
him, and began to ascend the steps.

The small and angular head of this man, his white hair and
thick gray mustaches, caused him to be easily recognized by
Baptistin, who had received an exact description of the
expected visitor, and who was awaiting him in the hall.
Therefore, scarcely had the stranger time to pronounce his
name before the count was apprised of his arrival. He was
ushered into a simple and elegant drawing-room, and the
count rose to meet him with a smiling air. "Ah, my dear sir,
you are most welcome; I was expecting you."

"Indeed," said the Italian, "was your excellency then aware
of my visit?"

"Yes; I had been told that I should see you to-day at seven
o'clock."

"Then you have received full information concerning my
arrival?"

"Of course."

"Ah, so much the better, I feared this little precaution
might have been forgotten."

"What precaution?"

"That of informing you beforehand of my coming."

"Oh, no, it has not."

"But you are sure you are not mistaken."

"Very sure."

"It really was I whom your excellency expected at seven
o'clock this evening?"

"I will prove it to you beyond a doubt."

"Oh, no, never mind that," said the Italian; "it is not
worth the trouble."

"Yes, yes," said Monte Cristo. His visitor appeared slightly
uneasy. "Let me see," said the count; "are you not the
Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?"

"Bartolomeo Cavalcanti," joyfully replied the Italian; "yes,
I am really he."

"Ex-major in the Austrian service?"

"Was I a major?" timidly asked the old soldier.

"Yes," said Monte Cristo "you were a major; that is the
title the French give to the post which you filled in
Italy."

"Very good," said the major, "I do not demand more, you
understand" --

"Your visit here to-day is not of your own suggestion, is
it?" said Monte Cristo.

"No, certainly not."

"You were sent by some other person?"

"Yes."

"By the excellent Abbe Busoni?"

"Exactly so," said the delighted major.

"And you have a letter?"

"Yes, there it is."

"Give it me, then;" and Monte Cristo took the letter, which
he opened and read. The major looked at the count with his
large staring eyes, and then took a survey of the apartment,
but his gaze almost immediately reverted to the proprietor
of the room. "Yes, yes, I see. `Major Cavalcanti, a worthy
patrician of Lucca, a descendant of the Cavalcanti of
Florence,'" continued Monte Cristo, reading aloud,
"`possessing an income of half a million.'" Monte Cristo
raised his eyes from the paper, and bowed. "Half a million,"
said he, "magnificent!"

"Half a million, is it?" said the major.

"Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbe
knows correctly the amount of all the largest fortunes in
Europe."

"Be it half a million. then; but on my word of honor, I had
no idea that it was so much."

"Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some
reformation in that quarter."

"You have opened my eyes," said the Italian gravely; "I will
show the gentlemen the door." Monte Cristo resumed the
perusal of the letter: --

"`And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.'"

"Yes, indeed but one!" said the major with a sigh.

"`Which is to recover a lost and adored son.'"

"A lost and adored son!"

"`Stolen away in his infancy, either by an enemy of his
noble family or by the gypsies.'"

"At the age of five years!" said the major with a deep sigh,
and raising his eye to heaven.

"Unhappy father," said Monte Cristo. The count continued: --

"`I have given him renewed life and hope, in the assurance
that you have the power of restoring the son whom he has
vainly sought for fifteen years.'" The major looked at the
count with an indescribable expression of anxiety. "I have
the power of so doing," said Monte Cristo. The major
recovered his self-possession. "So, then," said he, "the
letter was true to the end?"

"Did you doubt it, my dear Monsieur Bartolomeo?"

"No, indeed; certainly not; a good man, a man holding
religious office, as does the Abbe Busoni, could not
condescend to deceive or play off a joke; but your
excellency has not read all."

"Ah, true," said Monte Cristo "there is a postscript."

"Yes, yes," repeated the major, "yes -- there -- is -- a --
postscript."

"`In order to save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of drawing
on his banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray
his travelling expenses, and credit on you for the further
sum of 48,000 francs, which you still owe me.'" The major
awaited the conclusion of the postscript, apparently with
great anxiety. "Very good," said the count.

"He said `very good,'" muttered the major, "then -- sir" --
replied he.

"Then what?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Then the postscript" --

"Well; what of the postscript?"

"Then the postscript is as favorably received by you as the
rest of the letter?"

"Certainly; the Abbe Busoni and myself have a small account
open between us. I do not remember if it is exactly 48,000
francs, which I am still owing him, but I dare say we shall
not dispute the difference. You attached great importance,
then, to this postscript, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti?"

"I must explain to you," said the major, "that, fully
confiding in the signature of the Abbe Busoni, I had not
provided myself with any other funds; so that if this
resource had failed me, I should have found myself very
unpleasantly situated in Paris."

"Is it possible that a man of your standing should be
embarrassed anywhere?" said Monte Cristo.

"Why, really I know no one," said the major.

"But then you yourself are known to others?"

"Yes, I am known, so that" --

"Proceed, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti."

"So that you will remit to me these 48,000 francs?"

"Certainly, at your first request." The major's eyes dilated
with pleasing astonishment. "But sit down," said Monte
Cristo; "really I do not know what I have been thinking of
-- I have positively kept you standing for the last quarter
of an hour."

"Don't mention it." The major drew an arm-chair towards him,
and proceeded to seat himself.

"Now," said the count, "what will you take -- a glass of
port, sherry, or Alicante?"

"Alicante, if you please; it is my favorite wine."

"I have some that is very good. You will take a biscuit with
it, will you not?"

"Yes, I will take a biscuit, as you are so obliging."

Monte Cristo rang; Baptistin appeared. The count advanced to
meet him. "Well?" said he in a low voice. "The young man is
here," said the valet de chambre in the same tone.

"Into what room did you take him?"

"Into the blue drawing-room, according to your excellency's
orders."

"That's right; now bring the Alicante and some biscuits."

Baptistin left the room. "Really," said the major, "I am
quite ashamed of the trouble I am giving you."

"Pray don't mention such a thing," said the count. Baptistin
re-entered with glasses, wine, and biscuits. The count
filled one glass, but in the other he only poured a few
drops of the ruby-colored liquid. The bottle was covered
with spiders' webs, and all the other signs which indicate
the age of wine more truly than do wrinkles on a man's face.
The major made a wise choice; he took the full glass and a
biscuit. The count told Baptistin to leave the plate within
reach of his guest, who began by sipping the Alicante with
an expression of great satisfaction, and then delicately
steeped his biscuit in the wine.

"So, sir, you lived at Lucca, did you? You were rich, noble,
held in great esteem -- had all that could render a man
happy?"

"All," said the major, hastily swallowing his biscuit,
"positively all."

"And yet there was one thing wanting in order to complete
your happiness?"

"Only one thing," said the Italian.

"And that one thing, your lost child."

"Ah," said the major, taking a second biscuit, "that
consummation of my happiness was indeed wanting." The worthy
major raised his eyes to heaven and sighed.

"Let me hear, then," said the count, "who this deeply
regretted son was; for I always understood you were a
bachelor."

"That was the general opinion, sir," said the major, "and I"
--

"Yes," replied the count, "and you confirmed the report. A
youthful indiscretion, I suppose, which you were anxious to
conceal from the world at large?" The major recovered
himself, and resumed his usual calm manner, at the same time
casting his eyes down, either to give himself time to
compose his countenance, or to assist his imagination, all
the while giving an under-look at the count, the protracted
smile on whose lips still announced the same polite
curiosity. "Yes," said the major, "I did wish this fault to
be hidden from every eye."

"Not on your own account, surely," replied Monte Cristo;
"for a man is above that sort of thing?"

"Oh, no, certainly not on my own account," said the major
with a smile and a shake of the head.

"But for the sake of the mother?" said the count.

"Yes, for the mother's sake -- his poor mother!" cried the
major, taking a third biscuit.

"Take some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti," said the count,
pouring out for him a second glass of Alicante; "your
emotion has quite overcome you."

"His poor mother," murmured the major, trying to get the
lachrymal gland in operation, so as to moisten the corner of
his eye with a false tear.

"She belonged to one of the first families in Italy, I
think, did she not?"

"She was of a noble family of Fiesole, count."

"And her name was" --

"Do you desire to know her name?" --

"Oh," said Monte Cristo "it would be quite superfluous for
you to tell me, for I already know it."

"The count knows everything," said the Italian, bowing.

"Oliva Corsinari, was it not?"

"Oliva Corsinari."

"A marchioness?"

"A marchioness."

"And you married her at last, notwithstanding the opposition
of her family?"

"Yes, that was the way it ended."

"And you have doubtless brought all your papers with you?"
said Monte Cristo.

"What papers?"

"The certificate of your marriage with Oliva Corsinari, and
the register of your child's birth."

"The register of my child's birth?"

"The register of the birth of Andrea Cavalcanti -- of your
son; is not his name Andrea?"

"I believe so," said the major.

"What? You believe so?"

"I dare not positively assert it, as he has been lost for so
long a time."

"Well, then," said Monte Cristo "you have all the documents
with you?"

"Your excellency, I regret to say that, not knowing it was
necessary to come provided with these papers, I neglected to
bring them."

"That is unfortunate," returned Monte Cristo.

"Were they, then, so necessary?"

"They were indispensable."

The major passed his hand across his brow. "Ah, per Bacco,
indispensable, were they?"

"Certainly they were; supposing there were to be doubts
raised as to the validity of your marriage or the legitimacy
of your child?"

"True," said the major, "there might be doubts raised."

"In that case your son would be very unpleasantly situated."

"It would be fatal to his interests."

"It might cause him to fail in some desirable matrimonial
alliance."

"O peccato!"

"You must know that in France they are very particular on
these points; it is not sufficient, as in Italy, to go to
the priest and say, `We love each other, and want you to
marry us.' Marriage is a civil affair in France, and in
order to marry in an orthodox manner you must have papers
which undeniably establish your identity."

"That is the misfortune! You see I have not these necessary
papers."

"Fortunately, I have them, though," said Monte Cristo.

"You?"

"Yes."

"You have them?"

"I have them."

"Ah, indeed?" said the major, who, seeing the object of his
journey frustrated by the absence of the papers, feared also
that his forgetfulness might give rise to some difficulty
concerning the 48,000 francs -- "ah, indeed, that is a
fortunate circumstance; yes, that really is lucky, for it
never occurred to me to bring them."

"I do not at all wonder at it -- one cannot think of
everything; but, happily, the Abbe Busoni thought for you."

"He is an excellent person."

"He is extremely prudent and thoughtful"

"He is an admirable man," said the major; "and he sent them
to you?"

"Here they are."

The major clasped his hands in token of admiration. "You
married Oliva Corsinari in the church of San Paolo del
Monte-Cattini; here is the priest's certificate."

"Yes indeed, there it is truly," said the Italian, looking
on with astonishment.

"And here is Andrea Cavalcanti's baptismal register, given
by the curate of Saravezza."

"All quite correct."

"Take these documents, then; they do not concern me. You
will give them to your son, who will, of course, take great
care of them."

"I should think so, indeed! If he were to lose them" --

"Well, and if he were to lose them?" said Monte Cristo.

"In that case," replied the major, "it would be necessary to
write to the curate for duplicates, and it would be some
time before they could be obtained."

"It would be a difficult matter to arrange," said Monte
Cristo.

"Almost an impossibility," replied the major.

"I am very glad to see that you understand the value of
these papers."

"I regard them as invaluable."

"Now," said Monte Cristo "as to the mother of the young man"
--

"As to the mother of the young man" -- repeated the Italian,
with anxiety.

"As regards the Marchesa Corsinari" --

"Really," said the major, "difficulties seem to thicken upon
us; will she be wanted in any way?"

"No, sir," replied Monte Cristo; "besides, has she not" --

"Yes, sir," said the major, "she has" --

"Paid the last debt of nature?"

"Alas, yes," returned the Italian.

"I knew that," said Monte Cristo; "she has been dead these
ten years."

"And I am still mourning her loss," exclaimed the major,
drawing from his pocket a checked handkerchief, and
alternately wiping first the left and then the right eye.

"What would you have?" said Monte Cristo; "we are all
mortal. Now, you understand, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti,
that it is useless for you to tell people in France that you
have been separated from your son for fifteen years. Stories
of gypsies, who steal children, are not at all in vogue in
this part of the world, and would not be believed. You sent
him for his education to a college in one of the provinces,
and now you wish him to complete his education in the
Parisian world. That is the reason which has induced you to
leave Via Reggio, where you have lived since the death of
your wife. That will be sufficient."

"You think so?"

"Certainly."

"Very well, then."

"If they should hear of the separation" --

"Ah, yes; what could I say?"

"That an unfaithful tutor, bought over by the enemies of
your family" --

"By the Corsinari?"

"Precisely. Had stolen away this child, in order that your
name might become extinct."

"That is reasonable, since he is an only son."

"Well, now that all is arranged, do not let these newly
awakened remembrances be forgotten. You have, doubtless,
already guessed that I was preparing a surprise for you?"

"An agreeable one?" asked the Italian.

"Ah, I see the eye of a father is no more to be deceived
than his heart."

"Hum!" said the major.

"Some one has told you the secret; or, perhaps, you guessed
that he was here."

"That who was here?"

"Your child -- your son -- your Andrea!"

"I did guess it," replied the major with the greatest
possible coolness. "Then he is here?"

"He is," said Monte Cristo; "when the valet de chambre came
in just now, he told me of his arrival."

"Ah, very well, very well," said the major, clutching the
buttons of his coat at each exclamation.

"My dear sir," said Monte Cristo, "I understand your
emotion; you must have time to recover yourself. I will, in
the meantime, go and prepare the young man for this
much-desired interview, for I presume that he is not less
impatient for it than yourself."

"I should quite imagine that to be the case," said
Cavalcanti.

"Well, in a quarter of an hour he shall be with you."

"You will bring him, then? You carry your goodness so far as
even to present him to me yourself?"

"No; I do not wish to come between a father and son. Your
interview will be private. But do not be uneasy; even if the
powerful voice of nature should be silent, you cannot well
mistake him; he will enter by this door. He is a fine young
man, of fair complexion -- a little too fair, perhaps --
pleasing in manners; but you will see and judge for
yourself."

"By the way," said the major, "you know I have only the
2,000 francs which the Abbe Busoni sent me; this sum I have
expended upon travelling expenses, and" --

"And you want money; that is a matter of course, my dear M.
Cavalcanti. Well, here are 8,000 francs on account."

The major's eyes sparkled brilliantly.

"It is 40,000 francs which I now owe you," said Monte
Cristo.

"Does your excellency wish for a receipt?" said the major,
at the same time slipping the money into the inner pocket of
his coat.

"For what?" said the count.

"I thought you might want it to show the Abbe Busoni."

"Well, when you receive the remaining 40,000, you shall give
me a receipt in full. Between honest men such excessive
precaution is, I think, quite unnecessary."

"Yes, so it is, between perfectly upright people."

"One word more," said Monte Cristo.

"Say on."

"You will permit me to make one remark?"

"Certainly; pray do so."

"Then I should advise you to leave off wearing that style of
dress."

"Indeed," said the major, regarding himself with an air of
complete satisfaction.

"Yes. It may be worn at Via Reggio; but that costume,
however elegant in itself, has long been out of fashion in
Paris."

"That's unfortunate."

"Oh, if you really are attached to your old mode of dress;
you can easily resume it when you leave Paris."

"But what shall I wear?"

"What you find in your trunks."

"In my trunks? I have but one portmanteau."

"I dare say you have nothing else with you. What is the use
of boring one's self with so many things? Besides an old
soldier always likes to march with as little baggage as
possible."

"That is just the case -- precisely so."

"But you are a man of foresight and prudence, therefore you
sent your luggage on before you. It has arrived at the Hotel
des Princes, Rue de Richelieu. It is there you are to take
up your quarters."

"Then, in these trunks" --

"I presume you have given orders to your valet de chambre to
put in all you are likely to need, -- your plain clothes and
your uniform. On grand occasions you must wear your uniform;
that will look very well. Do not forget your crosses. They
still laugh at them in France, and yet always wear them, for
all that."

"Very well, very well," said the major, who was in ecstasy
at the attention paid him by the count.

"Now," said Monte Cristo, "that you have fortified yourself
against all painful excitement, prepare yourself, my dear M.
Cavalcanti, to meet your lost Andrea." Saying which Monte
Cristo bowed, and disappeared behind the tapestry, leaving
the major fascinated beyond expression with the delightful
reception which he had received at the hands of the count.

Chapter 56
Andrea Cavalcanti.

The Count of Monte Cristo entered the adjoining room, which
Baptistin had designated as the drawing-room, and found
there a young man, of graceful demeanor and elegant
appearance, who had arrived in a cab about half an hour
previously. Baptistin had not found any difficulty in
recognizing the person who presented himself at the door for
admittance. He was certainly the tall young man with light
hair, red heard, black eyes, and brilliant complexion, whom
his master had so particularly described to him. When the
count entered the room the young man was carelessly
stretched on a sofa, tapping his boot with the gold-headed
cane which he held in his hand. On perceiving the count he
rose quickly. "The Count of Monte Cristo, I believe?" said
he.

"Yes, sir, and I think I have the honor of addressing Count
Andrea Cavalcanti?"

"Count Andrea Cavalcanti," repeated the young man,
accompanying his words with a bow.

"You are charged with a letter of introduction addressed to
me, are you not?" said the count.

"I did not mention that, because the signature seemed to me
so strange."

"The letter signed `Sinbad the Sailor,' is it not?"

"Exactly so. Now, as I have never known any Sinbad, with the
exception of the one celebrated in the `Thousand and One
Nights'" --

"Well, it is one of his descendants, and a great friend of
mine; he is a very rich Englishman, eccentric almost to
insanity, and his real name is Lord Wilmore."

"Ah, indeed? Then that explains everything that is
extraordinary," said Andrea. "He is, then, the same
Englishman whom I met -- at -- ah -- yes, indeed. Well,
monsieur, I am at your service."

"If what you say be true," replied the count, smiling,
"perhaps you will be kind enough to give me some account of
yourself and your family?"

"Certainly, I will do so," said the young man, with a
quickness which gave proof of his ready invention. "I am (as
you have said) the Count Andrea Cavalcanti, son of Major
Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, a descendant of the Cavalcanti whose
names are inscribed in the golden book at Florence. Our
family, although still rich (for my father's income amounts
to half a million), has experienced many misfortunes, and I
myself was, at the age of five years, taken away by the
treachery of my tutor, so that for fifteen years I have not
seen the author of my existence. Since I have arrived at
years of discretion and become my own master, I have been
constantly seeking him, but all in vain. At length I
received this letter from your friend, which states that my
father is in Paris, and authorizes me to address myself to
you for information respecting him."

"Really, all you have related to me is exceedingly
interesting," said Monte Cristo, observing the young man
with a gloomy satisfaction; "and you have done well to
conform in everything to the wishes of my friend Sinbad; for
your father is indeed here, and is seeking you."

The count from the moment of first entering the
drawing-room, had not once lost sight of the expression of
the young man's countenance; he had admired the assurance of
his look and the firmness of his voice; but at these words,
so natural in themselves, "Your father is indeed here, and
is seeking you," young Andrea started, and exclaimed, "My
father? Is my father here?"

"Most undoubtedly," replied Monte Cristo; "your father,
Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti." The expression of terror
which, for the moment, had overspread the features of the
young man, had now disappeared. "Ah, yes, that is the name,
certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you really mean
to say; monsieur, that my dear father is here?"

"Yes, sir; and I can even add that I have only just left his
company. The history which he related to me of his lost son
touched me to the quick; indeed, his griefs, hopes, and
fears on that subject might furnish material for a most
touching and pathetic poem. At length, he one day received a
letter, stating that the abductors of his son now offered to
restore him, or at least to give notice where he might be
found, on condition of receiving a large sum of money, by
way of ransom. Your father did not hesitate an instant, and
the sum was sent to the frontier of Piedmont, with a
passport signed for Italy. You were in the south of France,
I think?"

"Yes," replied Andrea, with an embarrassed air, "I was in
the south of France."

"A carriage was to await you at Nice?"

"Precisely so; and it conveyed me from Nice to Genoa, from
Genoa to Turin, from Turin to Chambery, from Chambery to
Pont-de-Beauvoisin, and from Pont-de-Beauvoisin to Paris."

"Indeed? Then your father ought to have met with you on the
road, for it is exactly the same route which he himself
took, and that is how we have been able to trace your
journey to this place."

"But," said Andrea, "if my father had met me, I doubt if he
would have recognized me; I must be somewhat altered since
he last saw me."

"Oh, the voice of nature," said Monte Cristo.

"True," interrupted the young man, "I had not looked upon it
in that light."

"Now," replied Monte Cristo "there is only one source of
uneasiness left in your father's mind, which is this -- he
is anxious to know how you have been employed during your
long absence from him, how you have been treated by your
persecutors, and if they have conducted themselves towards
you with all the deference due to your rank. Finally, he is
anxious to see if you have been fortunate enough to escape
the bad moral influence to which you have been exposed, and
which is infinitely more to be dreaded than any physical
suffering; he wishes to discover if the fine abilities with
which nature had endowed you have been weakened by want of
culture; and, in short, whether you consider yourself
capable of resuming and retaining in the world the high
position to which your rank entitles you."

"Sir!" exclaimed the young man, quite astounded, "I hope no
false report" --

"As for myself, I first heard you spoken of by my friend
Wilmore, the philanthropist. I believe he found you in some
unpleasant position, but do not know of what nature, for I
did not ask, not being inquisitive. Your misfortunes engaged
his sympathies, so you see you must have been interesting.
He told me that he was anxious to restore you to the
position which you had lost, and that he would seek your
father until he found him. He did seek, and has found him,
apparently, since he is here now; and, finally, my friend
apprised me of your coming, and gave me a few other
instructions relative to your future fortune. I am quite
aware that my friend Wilmore is peculiar, but he is sincere,
and as rich as a gold-mine, consequently, he may indulge his
eccentricities without any fear of their ruining him, and I
have promised to adhere to his instructions. Now, sir, pray
do not be offended at the question I am about to put to you,
as it comes in the way of my duty as your patron. I would
wish to know if the misfortunes which have happened to you
-- misfortunes entirely beyond your control, and which in no
degree diminish my regard for you -- I would wish to know if
they have not, in some measure, contributed to render you a
stranger to the world in which your fortune and your name
entitle you to make a conspicuous figure?"

"Sir," returned the young man, with a reassurance of manner,
"make your mind easy on this score. Those who took me from
my father, and who always intended, sooner or later, to sell
me again to my original proprietor, as they have now done,
calculated that, in order to make the most of their bargain,
it would be politic to leave me in possession of all my
personal and hereditary worth, and even to increase the
value, if possible. I have, therefore, received a very good
education, and have been treated by these kidnappers very
much as the slaves were treated in Asia Minor, whose masters
made them grammarians, doctors, and philosophers, in order
that they might fetch a higher price in the Roman market."
Monte Cristo smiled with satisfaction; it appeared as if he
had not expected so much from M. Andrea Cavalcanti.
"Besides," continued the young man, "if there did appear
some defect in education, or offence against the established
forms of etiquette, I suppose it would be excused, in
consideration of the misfortunes which accompanied my birth,
and followed me through my youth."

"Well," said Monte Cristo in an indifferent tone, "you will
do as you please, count, for you are the master of your own
actions, and are the person most concerned in the matter,
but if I were you, I would not divulge a word of these
adventures. Your history is quite a romance, and the world,
which delights in romances in yellow covers, strangely
mistrusts those which are bound in living parchment, even
though they be gilded like yourself. This is the kind of
difficulty which I wished to represent to you, my dear
count. You would hardly have recited your touching history
before it would go forth to the world, and be deemed
unlikely and unnatural. You would be no longer a lost child
found, but you would be looked upon as an upstart, who had
sprung up like a mushroom in the night. You might excite a
little curiosity, but it is not every one who likes to be
made the centre of observation and the subject of unpleasant
remark."

"I agree with you, monsieur," said the young man, turning
pale, and, in spite of himself, trembling beneath the
scrutinizing look of his companion, "such consequences would
be extremely unpleasant."

"Nevertheless, you must not exaggerate the evil," said Monte
Cristo, "for by endeavoring to avoid one fault you will fall
into another. You must resolve upon one simple and single
line of conduct, and for a man of your intelligence, this
plan is as easy as it is necessary; you must form honorable
friendships, and by that means counteract the prejudice
which may attach to the obscurity of your former life."
Andrea visibly changed countenance. "I would offer myself as
your surety and friendly adviser," said Monte Cristo, "did I
not possess a moral distrust of my best friends, and a sort
of inclination to lead others to doubt them too; therefore,
in departing from this rule, I should (as the actors say) be
playing a part quite out of my line, and should, therefore,
run the risk of being hissed, which would be an act of
folly."

"However, your excellency," said Andrea, "in consideration
of Lord Wilmore, by whom I was recommended to you -- "

"Yes, certainly," interrupted Monte Cristo; "but Lord
Wilmore did not omit to inform me, my dear M. Andrea, that
the season of your youth was rather a stormy one. Ah," said
the count, watching Andrea's countenance, "I do not demand
any confession from you; it is precisely to avoid that
necessity that your father was sent for from Lucca. You
shall soon see him. He is a little stiff and pompous in his
manner, and he is disfigured by his uniform; but when it
becomes known that he has been for eighteen years in the
Austrian service, all that will be pardoned. We are not
generally very severe with the Austrians. In short, you will
find your father a very presentable person, I assure you."

"Ah, sir, you have given me confidence; it is so long since
we were separated, that I have not the least remembrance of
him, and, besides, you know that in the eyes of the world a
large fortune covers all defects."

"He is a millionaire -- his income is 500,000 francs."

"Then," said the young man, with anxiety, "I shall be sure
to be placed in an agreeable position."

"One of the most agreeable possible, my dear sir; he will
allow you an income of 50,000 livres per annum during the
whole time of your stay in Paris."

"Then in that case I shall always choose to remain there."

"You cannot control circumstances, my dear sir; `man
proposes, and God disposes.'" Andrea sighed. "But," said he,
"so long as I do remain in Paris, and nothing forces me to
quit it, do you mean to tell me that I may rely on receiving
the sum you just now mentioned to me?"

"You may."

"Shall I receive it from my father?" asked Andrea, with some
uneasiness.

"Yes, you will receive it from your father personally, but
Lord Wilmore will be the security for the money. He has, at
the request of your father, opened an account of 6,000
francs a month at M. Danglars', which is one of the safest
banks in Paris."

"And does my father mean to remain long in Paris?" asked
Andrea.

"Only a few days," replied Monte Cristo. "His service does
not allow him to absent himself more than two or three weeks
together."

"Ah, my dear father!" exclaimed Andrea, evidently charmed
with the idea of his speedy departure.

"Therefore," said Monte Cristo feigning to mistake his
meaning -- "therefore I will not, for another instant,
retard the pleasure of your meeting. Are you prepared to
embrace your worthy father?"

"I hope you do not doubt it."

"Go, then, into the drawing-room, my young friend, where you
will find your father awaiting you." Andrea made a low bow
to the count, and entered the adjoining room. Monte Cristo
watched him till he disappeared, and then touched a spring
in a panel made to look like a picture, which, in sliding
partly from the frame, discovered to view a small opening,
so cleverly contrived that it revealed all that was passing
in the drawing-room now occupied by Cavalcanti and Andrea.
The young man closed the door behind him, and advanced
towards the major, who had risen when he heard steps
approaching him. "Ah, my dear father!" said Andrea in a loud
voice, in order that the count might hear him in the next
room, "is it really you?"

"How do you do, my dear son?" said the major gravely.

"After so many years of painful separation," said Andrea, in
the same tone of voice, and glancing towards the door, "what
a happiness it is to meet again!"

"Indeed it is, after so long a separation."

"Will you not embrace me, sir?" said Andrea.

"If you wish it, my son," said the major; and the two men
embraced each other after the fashion of actors on the
stage; that is to say, each rested his head on the other's
shoulder.

"Then we are once more reunited?" said Andrea.

"Once more," replied the major.

"Never more to be separated?"

"Why, as to that -- I think, my dear son, you must be by
this time so accustomed to France as to look upon it almost
as a second country."

"The fact is," said the young man, "that I should be
exceedingly grieved to leave it."

"As for me, you must know I cannot possibly live out of
Lucca; therefore I shall return to Italy as soon as I can."

"But before you leave France, my dear father, I hope you
will put me in possession of the documents which will be
necessary to prove my descent."

"Certainly; I am come expressly on that account; it has cost
me much trouble to find you, but I had resolved on giving
them into your hands, and if I had to recommence my search,
it would occupy all the few remaining years of my life."

"Where are these papers, then?"

"Here they are."

Andrea seized the certificate of his father's marriage and
his own baptismal register, and after having opened them
with all the eagerness which might be expected under the
circumstances, he read them with a facility which proved
that he was accustomed to similar documents, and with an
expression which plainly denoted an unusual interest in the
contents. When he had perused the documents, an indefinable
expression of pleasure lighted up his countenance, and
looking at the major with a most peculiar smile, he said, in
very excellent Tuscan, -- "Then there is no longer any such
thing, in Italy as being condemned to the galleys?" The
major drew himself up to his full height.

"Why? -- what do you mean by that question?"

"I mean that if there were, it would be impossible to draw
up with impunity two such deeds as these. In France, my dear
sir, half such a piece of effrontery as that would cause you
to be quickly despatched to Toulon for five years, for
change of air."

"Will you be good enough to explain your meaning?" said the
major, endeavoring as much as possible to assume an air of
the greatest majesty.

"My dear M. Cavalcanti," said Andrea, taking the major by
the arm in a confidential manner, "how much are you paid for
being my father?" The major was about to speak, when Andrea
continued, in a low voice.

"Nonsense, I am going to set you an example of confidence,
they give me 50,000 francs a year to be your son;
consequently, you can understand that it is not at all
likely I shall ever deny my parent." The major looked
anxiously around him. "Make yourself easy, we are quite
alone," said Andrea; "besides, we are conversing in
Italian."

"Well, then," replied the major, "they paid me 50,000 francs
down."

"Monsieur Cavalcanti," said Andrea, "do you believe in fairy
tales?"

"I used not to do so, but I really feel now almost obliged
to have faith in them."

"You have, then, been induced to alter your opinion; you
have had some proofs of their truth?" The major drew from
his pocket a handful of gold. "Most palpable proofs," said
he, "as you may perceive."

"You think, then, that I may rely on the count's promises?"

"Certainly I do."

"You are sure he will keep his word with me?"

"To the letter, but at the same time, remember, we must
continue to play our respective parts. I, as a tender
father" --

"And I as a dutiful son, as they choose that I shall be
descended from you."

"Whom do you mean by they?"

"Ma foi, I can hardly tell, but I was alluding to those who
wrote the letter; you received one, did you not?"

"Yes."

"From whom?"

"From a certain Abbe Busoni."

"Have you any knowledge of him?"

"No, I have never seen him."

"What did he say in the letter?"

"You will promise not to betray me?"

"Rest assured of that; you well know that our interests are
the same."

"Then read for yourself;" and the major gave a letter into
the young man's hand. Andrea read in a low voice --

"You are poor; a miserable old age awaits you. Would you
like to become rich, or at least independent? Set out
immediately for Paris, and demand of the Count of Monte
Cristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, No. 30, the son whom you
had by the Marchesa Corsinari, and who was taken from you at
five years of age. This son is named Andrea Cavalcanti. In
order that you may not doubt the kind intention of the
writer of this letter, you will find enclosed an order for
2,400 francs, payable in Florence, at Signor Gozzi's; also a
letter of introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, on whom
I give you a draft of 48,000 francs. Remember to go to the
count on the 26th May at seven o'clock in the evening.

(Signed)

"Abbe Busoni."

"It is the same."

"What do you mean?" said the major.

"I was going to say that I received a letter almost to the
same effect."

"You?"

"Yes."

"From the Abbe Busoni?"

"No."

"From whom, then?"

"From an Englishman, called Lord Wilmore, who takes the name
of Sinbad the Sailor."

"And of whom you have no more knowledge than I of the Abbe
Busoni?"

"You are mistaken; there I am ahead of you."

"You have seen him, then?"

"Yes, once."

"Where?"

"Ah, that is just what I cannot tell you; if I did, I should
make you as wise as myself, which it is not my intention to
do."

"And what did the letter contain?"

"Read it."

"`You are poor, and your future prospects are dark and
gloomy. Do you wish for a name? should you like to be rich,
and your own master?'"

"Ma foi," said the young man; "was it possible there could
be two answers to such a question?"

"Take the post-chaise which you will find waiting at the
Porte de Genes, as you enter Nice; pass through Turin,
Chambery, and Pont-de-Beauvoisin. Go to the Count of Monte
Cristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, on the 26th of May, at
seven o'clock in the evening, and demand of him your father.
You are the son of the Marchese Cavalcanti and the Marchesa
Oliva Corsinari. The marquis will give you some papers which
will certify this fact, and authorize you to appear under
that name in the Parisian world. As to your rank, an annual
income of 50,000 livres will enable you to support it
admirably. I enclose a draft for 5,000 livres, payable on M.
Ferrea, banker at Nice, and also a letter of introduction to
the Count of Monte Cristo, whom I have directed to supply
all your wants.

"Sinbad the Sailor."

"Humph," said the major; "very good. You have seen the
count, you say?"

"I have only just left him "

"And has he conformed to all that the letter specified?"

"He has."

"Do you understand it?"

"Not in the least."

"There is a dupe somewhere."

"At all events, it is neither you nor I."

"Certainly not."

"Well, then" --

"Why, it does not much concern us, do you think it does?"

"No; I agree with you there. We must play the game to the
end, and consent to be blindfold."

"Ah, you shall see; I promise you I will sustain my part to
admiration."

"I never once doubted your doing so." Monte Cristo chose
this moment for re-entering the drawing-room. On hearing the
sound of his footsteps, the two men threw themselves in each
other's arms, and while they were in the midst of this
embrace, the count entered. "Well, marquis," said Monte
Cristo, "you appear to be in no way disappointed in the son
whom your good fortune has restored to you."

"Ah, your excellency, I am overwhelmed with delight."

"And what are your feelings?" said Monte Cristo, turning to
the young man.

"As for me, my heart is overflowing with happiness."

"Happy father, happy son!" said the count.

"There is only one thing which grieves me," observed the
major, "and that is the necessity for my leaving Paris so
soon."

"Ah, my dear M. Cavalcanti, I trust you will not leave
before I have had the honor of presenting you to some of my
friends."

"I am at your service, sir," replied the major.

"Now, sir," said Monte Cristo, addressing Andrea, "make your
confession."

"To whom?"

"Tell M. Cavalcanti something of the state of your
finances."

"Ma foi, monsieur, you have touched upon a tender chord."

"Do you hear what he says, major?"

"Certainly I do."

"But do you understand?"

"I do."

"Your son says he requires money."

"Well, what would you have me do?" said the major.

"You should furnish him with some of course," replied Monte
Cristo.

"I?"

"Yes, you," said the count, at the same time advancing
towards Andrea, and slipping a packet of bank-notes into the
young man's hand.

"What is this?"

"It is from your father."

"From my father?"

"Yes; did you not tell him just now that you wanted money?
Well, then, he deputes me to give you this."

"Am I to consider this as part of my income on account?"

"No, it is for the first expenses of your settling in
Paris."

"Ah, how good my dear father is!"

"Silence," said Monte Cristo; "he does not wish you to know
that it comes from him."

"I fully appreciate his delicacy," said Andrea, cramming the
notes hastily into his pocket.

"And now, gentlemen, I wish you good-morning," said Monte
Cristo.

"And when shall we have the honor of seeing you again, your
excellency?" asked Cavalcanti.

"Ah," said Andrea, "when may we hope for that pleasure?"

"On Saturday, if you will -- Yes. -- Let me see -- Saturday
-- I am to dine at my country house, at Auteuil, on that
day, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28. Several persons are
invited, and among others, M. Danglars, your banker. I will
introduce you to him, for it will be necessary he should
know you, as he is to pay your money."

"Full dress?" said the major, half aloud.

"Oh, yes, certainly," said the count; "uniform, cross,
knee-breeches."

"And how shall I be dressed?" demanded Andrea.

"Oh, very simply; black trousers, patent leather boots,
white waistcoat, either a black or blue coat, and a long
cravat. Go to Blin or Veronique for your clothes. Baptistin
will tell you where, if you do not know their address. The
less pretension there is in your attire, the better will be
the effect, as you are a rich man. If you mean to buy any
horses, get them of Devedeux, and if you purchase a phaeton,
go to Baptiste for it."

"At what hour shall we come?" asked the young man.

"About half-past six."

"We will be with you at that time," said the major. The two
Cavalcanti bowed to the count, and left the house. Monte
Cristo went to the window, and saw them crossing the street,
arm in arm. "There go two miscreants;" said he, "it is a
pity they are not really related!" -- then, after an instant
of gloomy reflection, "Come, I will go to see the Morrels,"
said he; "I think that disgust is even more sickening than
hatred."

Chapter 57
In the Lucerne Patch.

Our readers must now allow us to transport them again to the
enclosure surrounding M. de Villefort's house, and, behind
the gate, half screened from view by the large
chestnut-trees, which on all sides spread their luxuriant
branches, we shall find some people of our acquaintance.
This time Maximilian was the first to arrive. He was
intently watching for a shadow to appear among the trees,
and awaiting with anxiety the sound of a light step on the
gravel walk. At length, the long-desired sound was heard,
and instead of one figure, as he had expected, he perceived
that two were approaching him. The delay had been occasioned
by a visit from Madame Danglars and Eugenie, which had been
prolonged beyond the time at which Valentine was expected.
That she might not appear to fail in her promise to
Maximilian, she proposed to Mademoiselle Danglars that they
should take a walk in the garden, being anxious to show that
the delay, which was doubtless a cause of vexation to him,
was not occasioned by any neglect on her part. The young
man, with the intuitive perception of a lover, quickly
understood the circumstances in which she was involuntarily
placed, and he was comforted. Besides, although she avoided
coming within speaking distance, Valentine arranged so that
Maximilian could see her pass and repass, and each time she
went by, she managed, unperceived by her companion, to cast
an expressive look at the young man, which seemed to say,
"Have patience! You see it is not my fault." And Maximilian
was patient, and employed himself in mentally contrasting
the two girls, -- one fair, with soft languishing eyes, a
figure gracefully bending like a weeping willow; the other a
brunette, with a fierce and haughty expression, and as
straight as a poplar. It is unnecessary to state that, in
the eyes of the young man, Valentine did not suffer by the
contrast. In about half an hour the girls went away, and
Maximilian understood that Mademoiselle Danglars' visit had
at last come to an end. In a few minutes Valentine
re-entered the garden alone. For fear that any one should be
observing her return, she walked slowly; and instead of
immediately directing her steps towards the gate, she seated
herself on a bench, and, carefully casting her eyes around,
to convince herself that she was not watched, she presently
arose, and proceeded quickly to join Maximilian.

"Good-evening, Valentine," said a well-known voice.

"Good-evening, Maximilian; I know I have kept you waiting,
but you saw the cause of my delay."

"Yes, I recognized Mademoiselle Danglars. I was not aware
that you were so intimate with her."

"Who told you we were intimate, Maximilian?"

"No one, but you appeared to be so. From the manner in which
you walked and talked together, one would have thought you
were two school-girls telling your secrets to each other."

"We were having a confidential conversation," returned
Valentine; "she was owning to me her repugnance to the
marriage with M. de Morcerf; and I, on the other hand, was
confessing to her how wretched it made me to think of
marrying M. d'Epinay."

"Dear Valentine!"

"That will account to you for the unreserved manner which
you observed between me and Eugenie, as in speaking of the
man whom I could not love, my thoughts involuntarily
reverted to him on whom my affections were fixed."

"Ah, how good you are to say so, Valentine! You possess a
quality which can never belong to Mademoiselle Danglars. It
is that indefinable charm which is to a woman what perfume
is to the flower and flavor to the fruit, for the beauty of
either is not the only quality we seek."

"It is your love which makes you look upon everything in
that light."

"No, Valentine, I assure you such is not the case. I was
observing you both when you were walking in the garden, and,
on my honor, without at all wishing to depreciate the beauty
of Mademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man
can really love her."

"The fact is, Maximilian, that I was there, and my presence
had the effect of rendering you unjust in your comparison."

"No; but tell me -- it is a question of simple curiosity,
and which was suggested by certain ideas passing in my mind
relative to Mademoiselle Danglars" --

"I dare say it is something disparaging which you are going
to say. It only proves how little indulgence we may expect
from your sex," interrupted Valentine.

"You cannot, at least, deny that you are very harsh judges
of each other."

"If we are so, it is because we generally judge under the
influence of excitement. But return to your question."

"Does Mademoiselle Danglars object to this marriage with M.
de Morcerf on account of loving another?"

"I told you I was not on terms of strict intimacy with
Eugenie."

"Yes, but girls tell each other secrets without being
particularly intimate; own, now, that you did question her
on the subject. Ah, I see you are smiling."

"If you are already aware of the conversation that passed,
the wooden partition which interposed between us and you has
proved but a slight security."

"Come, what did she say?"

"She told me that she loved no one," said Valentine; "that
she disliked the idea of being married; that she would
infinitely prefer leading an independent and unfettered
life; and that she almost wished her father might lose his
fortune, that she might become an artist, like her friend,
Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly."

"Ah, you see" --

"Well, what does that prove?" asked Valentine.

"Nothing," replied Maximilian.

"Then why did you smile?"

"Why, you know very well that you are reflecting on
yourself, Valentine."

"Do you want me to go away?"

"Ah, no, no. But do not let us lose time; you are the
subject on which I wish to speak."

"True, we must be quick, for we have scarcely ten minutes
more to pass together."

"Ma foi," said Maximilian, in consternation.

"Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a
life I cause you to lead, poor Maximilian, you who are
formed for happiness! I bitterly reproach myself, I assure
you."

"Well, what does it signify, Valentine, so long as I am
satisfied, and feel that even this long and painful suspense
is amply repaid by five minutes of your society, or two
words from your lips? And I have also a deep conviction that
heaven would not have created two hearts, harmonizing as
ours do, and almost miraculously brought us together, to
separate us at last."

"Those are kind and cheering words. You must hope for us
both, Maximilian; that will make me at least partly happy."

"But why must you leave me so soon?"

"I do not know particulars. I can only tell you that Madame
de Villefort sent to request my presence, as she had a
communication to make on which a part of my fortune
depended. Let them take my fortune, I am already too rich;
and, perhaps, when they have taken it, they will leave me in
peace and quietness. You would love me as much if I were
poor, would you not, Maximilian?"

"Oh, I shall always love you. What should I care for either
riches or poverty, if my Valentine was near me, and I felt
certain that no one could deprive me of her? But do you not
fear that this communication may relate to your marriage?"

"I do not think that is the case."

"However it may be, Valentine, you must not be alarmed. I
assure you that, as long as I live, I shall never love any
one else!"

"You think to reassure me when you say that, Maximilian."

"Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to
tell you that I met M. de Morcerf the other day."

"Well?"

"Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know."

"What then?"

"Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz,
announcing his immediate return." Valentine turned pale, and
leaned her hand against the gate. "Ah heavens, if it were
that! But no, the communication would not come through
Madame de Villefort."

"Why not?"

"Because -- I scarcely know why -- but it has appeared as if
Madame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage,
although she did not choose openly to oppose it."

"Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de
Villefort."

"Do not be in such a hurry to do that," said Valentine, with
a sad smile.

"If she objects to your marrying M. d'Epinay, she would be
all the more likely to listen to any other proposition."

"No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de
Villefort objects, it is marriage itself."

"Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever
marry herself?"

"You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I
talked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in
spite of all the remarks which she considered it her duty to
make, secretly approved of the proposition, my father
consented to it at her instigation, and it was only on
account of my poor grandfather that I finally abandoned the
project. You can form no idea of the expression of that old
man's eye when he looks at me, the only person in the world
whom he loves, and, I had almost said, by whom he is beloved
in return. When he learned my resolution, I shall never
forget the reproachful look which he cast on me, and the
tears of utter despair which chased each other down his
lifeless cheeks. Ah, Maximilian, I experienced, at that
moment, such remorse for my intention, that, throwing myself
at his feet, I exclaimed, -- `Forgive me, pray forgive me,
my dear grandfather; they may do what they will with me, I
will never leave you.' When I had ceased speaking, he
thankfully raised his eyes to heaven, but without uttering a
word. Ah, Maximilian, I may have much to suffer, but I feel
as if my grandfather's look at that moment would more than
compensate for all."

"Dear Valentine, you are a perfect angel, and I am sure I do
not know what I -- sabring right and left among the Bedouins
-- can have done to merit your being revealed to me, unless,
indeed, heaven took into consideration the fact that the
victims of my sword were infidels. But tell me what interest
Madame de Villefort can have in your remaining unmarried?"

"Did I not tell you just now that I was rich, Maximilian --
too rich? I possess nearly 50,000 livres in right of my
mother; my grandfather and my grandmother, the Marquis and
Marquise de Saint-Meran, will leave me as much, and M.
Noirtier evidently intends making me his heir. My brother
Edward, who inherits nothing from his mother, will,
therefore, be poor in comparison with me. Now, if I had
taken the veil, all this fortune would have descended to my
father, and, in reversion, to his son."

"Ah, how strange it seems that such a young and beautiful
woman should be so avaricious."

"It is not for herself that she is so, but for her son, and
what you regard as a vice becomes almost a virtue when
looked at in the light of maternal love."

"But could you not compromise matters, and give up a portion
of your fortune to her son?"

"How could I make such a proposition, especially to a woman
who always professes to be so entirely disinterested?"

"Valentine, I have always regarded our love in the light of
something sacred; consequently, I have covered it with the
veil of respect, and hid it in the innermost recesses of my
soul. No human being, not even my sister, is aware of its
existence. Valentine, will you permit me to make a confidant
of a friend and reveal to him the love I bear you?"

Valentine started. "A friend, Maximilian; and who is this
friend? I tremble to give my permission."

"Listen, Valentine. Have you never experienced for any one
that sudden and irresistible sympathy which made you feel as
if the object of it had been your old and familiar friend,
though, in reality, it was the first time you had ever met?
Nay, further, have you never endeavored to recall the time,
place, and circumstances of your former intercourse, and
failing in this attempt, have almost believed that your
spirits must have held converse with each other in some
state of being anterior to the present, and that you are
only now occupied in a reminiscence of the past?"

"Yes."

"Well, that is precisely the feeling which I experienced
when I first saw that extraordinary man."

"Extraordinary, did you say?"

"Yes."

"You have known him for some time, then?"

"Scarcely longer than eight or ten days."

"And do you call a man your friend whom you have only known
for eight or ten days? Ah, Maximilian, I had hoped you set a
higher value on the title of friend."

"Your logic is most powerful, Valentine, but say what you
will, I can never renounce the sentiment which has
instinctively taken possession of my mind. I feel as if it
were ordained that this man should be associated with all
the good which the future may have in store for me, and
sometimes it really seems as if his eye was able to see what
was to come, and his hand endowed with the power of
directing events according to his own will."

"He must be a prophet, then," said Valentine, smiling.

"Indeed," said Maximilian, "I have often been almost tempted
to attribute to him the gift of prophecy; at all events, he
has a wonderful power of foretelling any future good."

"Ah," said Valentine in a mournful tone, "do let me see this
man, Maximilian; he may tell me whether I shall ever be
loved sufficiently to make amends for all I have suffered."

"My poor girl, you know him already."

"I know him?"

"Yes; it was he who saved the life of your step-mother and
her son."

"The Count of Monte Cristo?"

"The same."

"Ah," cried Valentine, "he is too much the friend of Madame
de Villefort ever to be mine."

"The friend of Madame de Villefort! It cannot be; surely,
Valentine, you are mistaken?"

"No, indeed, I am not; for I assure you, his power over our
household is almost unlimited. Courted by my step-mother,
who regards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by
my father, who says he has never before heard such sublime
ideas so eloquently expressed; idolized by Edward, who,
notwithstanding his fear of the count's large black eyes,
runs to meet him the moment he arrives, and opens his hand,
in which he is sure to find some delightful present, -- M.
de Monte Cristo appears to exert a mysterious and almost
uncontrollable influence over all the members of our
family."

"If such be the case, my dear Valentine, you must yourself
have felt, or at all events will soon feel, the effects of
his presence. He meets Albert de Morcerf in Italy -- it is
to rescue him from the hands of the banditti; he introduces
himself to Madame Danglars -- it is that he may give her a
royal present; your step-mother and her son pass before his
door -- it is that his Nubian may save them from
destruction. This man evidently possesses the power of
influencing events, both as regards men and things. I never
saw more simple tastes united to greater magnificence. His
smile is so sweet when he addresses me, that I forget it
ever can be bitter to others. Ah, Valentine, tell me, if he
ever looked on you with one of those sweet smiles? if so,
depend on it, you will be happy."

"Me?" said the young girl, "he never even glances at me; on
the contrary, if I accidentally cross his path, he appears
rather to avoid me. Ah, he is not generous, neither does he
possess that supernatural penetration which you attribute to
him, for if he did, he would have perceived that I was
unhappy; and if he had been generous, seeing me sad and
solitary, he would have used his influence to my advantage,
and since, as you say, he resembles the sun, he would have
warmed my heart with one of his life-giving rays. You say he
loves you, Maximilian; how do you know that he does? All
would pay deference to an officer like you, with a fierce
mustache and a long sabre, but they think they may crush a
poor weeping girl with impunity."

"Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken."

"If it were otherwise -- if he treated me diplomatically --
that is to say, like a man who wishes, by some means or
other, to obtain a footing in the house, so that he may
ultimately gain the power of dictating to its occupants --
he would, if it had been but once, have honored me with the
smile which you extol so loudly; but no, he saw that I was
unhappy, he understood that I could be of no use to him, and
therefore paid no attention to me whatever. Who knows but
that, in order to please Madame de Villefort and my father,
he may not persecute me by every means in his power? It is
not just that he should despise me so, without any reason.
Ah, forgive me," said Valentine, perceiving the effect which
her words were producing on Maximilian: "I have done wrong,
for I have given utterance to thoughts concerning that man
which I did not even know existed in my heart. I do not deny
the influence of which you speak, or that I have not myself
experienced it, but with me it has been productive of evil
rather than good."

"Well, Valentine," said Morrel with a sigh, "we will not
discuss the matter further. I will not make a confidant of
him."

"Alas," said Valentine, "I see that I have given you pain. I
can only say how sincerely I ask pardon for having griefed
you. But, indeed, I am not prejudiced beyond the power of
conviction. Tell me what this Count of Monte Cristo has done
for you."

"I own that your question embarrasses me, Valentine, for I
cannot say that the count has rendered me any ostensible
service. Still, as I have already told you I have an
instinctive affection for him, the source of which I cannot
explain to you. Has the sun done anything for me? No; he
warms me with his rays, and it is by his light that I see
you -- nothing more. Has such and such a perfume done
anything for me? No; its odor charms one of my senses --
that is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My
friendship for him is as strange and unaccountable as his
for me. A secret voice seems to whisper to me that there
must be something more than chance in this unexpected
reciprocity of friendship. In his most simple actions, as
well as in his most secret thoughts, I find a relation to my
own. You will perhaps smile at me when I tell you that, ever
since I have known this man, I have involuntarily
entertained the idea that all the good fortune which his
befallen me originated from him. However, I have managed to
live thirty years without this protection, you will say; but
I will endeavor a little to illustrate my meaning. He
invited me to dine with him on Saturday, which was a very
natural thing for him to do. Well, what have I learned
since? That your mother and M. de Villefort are both coming
to this dinner. I shall meet them there, and who knows what
future advantages may result from the interview? This may
appear to you to be no unusual combination of circumstances;
nevertheless, I perceive some hidden plot in the arrangement
-- something, in fact, more than is apparent on a casual
view of the subject. I believe that this singular man, who
appears to fathom the motives of every one, has purposely
arranged for me to meet M. and Madame de Villefort, and
sometimes, I confess, I have gone so far as to try to read
in his eyes whether he was in possession of the secret of
our love."

"My good friend," said Valentine, "I should take you for a
visionary, and should tremble for your reason, if I were
always to hear you talk in a strain similar to this. Is it
possible that you can see anything more than the merest
chance in this meeting? Pray reflect a little. My father,
who never goes out, has several times been on the point of
refusing this invitation; Madame de Villefort, on the
contrary, is burning with the desire of seeing this
extraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has
with great difficulty prevailed on my father to accompany
her. No, no; it is as I have said, Maximilian, -- there is
no one in the world of whom I can ask help but yourself and
my grandfather, who is little better than a corpse."

"I see that you are right, logically speaking," said
Maximilian; "but the gentle voice which usually has such
power over me fails to convince me to-day."

"I feel the same as regards yourself." said Valentine; "and
I own that, if you have no stronger proof to give me" --

"I have another," replied Maximilian; "but I fear you will
deem it even more absurd than the first."

"So much the worse," said Valentine, smiling.

"It is, nevertheless, conclusive to my mind. My ten years of
service have also confirmed my ideas on the subject of
sudden inspirations, for I have several times owed my life
to a mysterious impulse which directed me to move at once
either to the right or to the left, in order to escape the
ball which killed the comrade fighting by my side, while it
left me unharmed."

"Dear Maximilian, why not attribute your escape to my
constant prayers for your safety? When you are away, I no
longer pray for myself, but for you."

"Yes, since you have known me," said Morrel, smiling; "but
that cannot apply to the time previous to our acquaintance,
Valentine."

"You are very provoking, and will not give me credit for
anything; but let me hear this second proof, which you
yourself own to be absurd."

"Well, look through this opening, and you will see the
beautiful new horse which I rode here."

"Ah, what a beautiful creature!" cried Valentine; "why did
you not bring him close to the gate, so that I could talk to
him and pat him?"

"He is, as you see, a very valuable animal," said
Maximilian. "You know that my means are limited, and that I
am what would be designated a man of moderate pretensions.
Well, I went to a horse dealer's, where I saw this
magnificent horse, which I have named Medeah. I asked the
price; they told me it was 4,500 francs. I was, therefore,
obliged to give it up, as you may imagine, but I own I went
away with rather a heavy heart, for the horse had looked at
me affectionately, had rubbed his head against me and, when
I mounted him, had pranced in the most delightful way
imaginable, so that I was altogether fascinated with him.
The same evening some friends of mine visited me, -- M. de
Chateau-Renaud, M. Debray, and five or six other choice
spirits, whom you do not know, even by name. They proposed a
game of bouillotte. I never play, for I am not rich enough
to afford to lose, or sufficiently poor to desire to gain.
But I was at my own house, you understand, so there was
nothing to be done but to send for the cards, which I did.

"Just as they were sitting down to table, M. de Monte Cristo
arrived. He took his seat amongst them; they played, and I
won. I am almost ashamed to say that my gains amounted to
5,000 francs. We separated at midnight. I could not defer my
pleasure, so I took a cabriolet and drove to the horse
dealer's. Feverish and excited, I rang at the door. The
person who opened it must have taken me for a madman, for I
rushed at once to the stable. Medeah was standing at the
rack, eating his hay. I immediately put on the saddle and
bridle, to which operation he lent himself with the best
grace possible; then, putting the 4,500 francs into the
hands of the astonished dealer, I proceeded to fulfil my
intention of passing the night in riding in the Champs
Elysees. As I rode by the count's house I perceived a light
in one of the windows, and fancied I saw the shadow of his
figure moving behind the curtain. Now, Valentine, I firmly
believe that he knew of my wish to possess this horse, and
that he lost expressly to give me the means of procuring
him."

"My dear Maximilian, you are really too fanciful; you will
not love even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live
in such a world of poetry and imagination must find far too
little excitement in a common, every-day sort of attachment
such as ours. But they are calling me. Do you hear?"

"Ah, Valentine," said Maximilian, "give me but one finger
through this opening in the grating, one finger, the
littlest finger of all, that I may have the happiness of
kissing it."

"Maximilian, we said we would be to each other as two
voices, two shadows."

"As you will, Valentine."

"Shall you be happy if I do what you wish?"

"Oh, yes!" Valentine mounted on a bench, and passed not only
her finger but her whole hand through the opening.
Maximilian uttered a cry of delight, and, springing
forwards, seized the hand extended towards him, and
imprinted on it a fervent and impassioned kiss. The little
hand was then immediately withdrawn, and the young man saw
Valentine hurrying towards the house, as though she were
almost terrified at her own sensations.

Chapter 58
M. Noirtier de Villefort.

We will now relate what was passing in the house of the
king's attorney after the departure of Madame Danglars and
her daughter, and during the time of the conversation
between Maximilian and Valentine, which we have just
detailed. M. de Villefort entered his father's room,
followed by Madame de Villefort. Both of the visitors, after
saluting the old man and speaking to Barrois, a faithful
servant, who had been twenty-five years in his service, took
their places on either side of the paralytic.

M. Noirtier was sitting in an arm-chair, which moved upon
casters, in which he was wheeled into the room in the
morning, and in the same way drawn out again at night. He
was placed before a large glass, which reflected the whole
apartment, and so, without any attempt to move, which would
have been impossible, he could see all who entered the room
and everything which was going on around him. M. Noirtier,
although almost as immovable as a corpse, looked at the
newcomers with a quick and intelligent expression,
perceiving at once, by their ceremonious courtesy, that they
were come on business of an unexpected and official
character. Sight and hearing were the only senses remaining,
and they, like two solitary sparks, remained to animate the
miserable body which seemed fit for nothing but the grave;
it was only, however, by means of one of these senses that
he could reveal the thoughts and feelings that still
occupied his mind, and the look by which he gave expression
to his inner life was like the distant gleam of a candle
which a traveller sees by night across some desert place,
and knows that a living being dwells beyond the silence and
obscurity. Noirtier's hair was long and white, and flowed
over his shoulders; while in his eyes, shaded by thick black
lashes, was concentrated, as it often happens with an organ
which is used to the exclusion of the others, all the
activity, address, force, and intelligence which were
formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although the
movement of the arm, the sound of the voice, and the agility
of the body, were wanting, the speaking eye sufficed for
all. He commanded with it; it was the medium through which
his thanks were conveyed. In short, his whole appearance
produced on the mind the impression of a corpse with living
eyes, and nothing could be more startling than to observe
the expression of anger or joy suddenly lighting up these
organs, while the rest of the rigid and marble-like features
were utterly deprived of the power of participation. Three
persons only could understand this language of the poor
paralytic; these were Villefort, Valentine, and the old
servant of whom we have already spoken. But as Villefort saw
his father but seldom, and then only when absolutely
obliged, and as he never took any pains to please or gratify
him when he was there, all the old man's happiness was
centred in his granddaughter. Valentine, by means of her
love, her patience, and her devotion, had learned to read in
Noirtier's look all the varied feelings which were passing
in his mind. To this dumb language, which was so
unintelligible to others, she answered by throwing her whole
soul into the expression of her countenance, and in this
manner were the conversations sustained between the blooming
girl and the helpless invalid, whose body could scarcely be
called a living one, but who, nevertheless, possessed a fund
of knowledge and penetration, united with a will as powerful
as ever although clogged by a body rendered utterly
incapable of obeying its impulses. Valentine had solved the
problem, and was able easily to understand his thoughts, and
to convey her own in return, and, through her untiring and
devoted assiduity, it was seldom that, in the ordinary
transactions of every-day life, she failed to anticipate the
wishes of the living, thinking mind, or the wants of the
almost inanimate body. As to the servant, he had, as we have
said, been with his master for five and twenty years,
therefore he knew all his habits, and it was seldom that
Noirtier found it necessary to ask for anything, so prompt
was he in administering to all the necessities of the
invalid. Villefort did not need the help of either Valentine
or the domestic in order to carry on with his father the
strange conversation which he was about to begin. As we have
said, he perfectly understood the old man's vocabulary, and
if he did not use it more often, it was only indifference
and ennui which prevented him from so doing. He therefore
allowed Valentine to go into the garden, sent away Barrois,
and after having seated himself at his father's right hand,
while Madame de Villefort placed herself on the left, he
addressed him thus: --

"I trust you will not be displeased, sir, that Valentine has
not come with us, or that I dismissed Barrois, for our
conference will be one which could not with propriety be
carried on in the presence of either. Madame de Villefort
and I have a communication to make to you."

Noirtier's face remained perfectly passive during this long
preamble, while, on the contrary, Villefort's eye was
endeavoring to penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old
man's heart.

"This communication," continued the procureur, in that cold
and decisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all
discussion, "will, we are sure, meet with your approbation."
The eye of the invalid still retained that vacancy of
expression which prevented his son from obtaining any
knowledge of the feelings which were passing in his mind; he
listened, nothing more. "Sir," resumed Villefort, "we are
thinking of marrying Valentine." Had the old man's face been
moulded in wax it could not have shown less emotion at this
news than was now to be traced there. "The marriage will
take place in less than three months," said Villefort.
Noirtier's eye still retained its inanimate expression.

Madame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation
and added, -- "We thought this news would possess an
interest for you, sir, who have always entertained a great
affection for Valentine; it therefore only now remains for
us to tell you the name of the young man for whom she is
destined. It is one of the most desirable connections which
could possibly be formed; he possesses fortune, a high rank
in society, and every personal qualification likely to
render Valentine supremely happy, -- his name, moreover,
cannot be wholly unknown to you. It is M. Franz de Quesnel,
Baron d'Epinay."

While his wife was speaking, Villefort had narrowly watched
the old man's countenance. When Madame de Villefort
pronounced the name of Franz, the pupil of M. Noirtier's eye
began to dilate, and his eyelids trembled with the same
movement that may be perceived on the lips of an individual
about to speak, and he darted a lightning glance at Madame
de Villefort and his son. The procureur, who knew the
political hatred which had formerly existed between M.
Noirtier and the elder d'Epinay, well understood the
agitation and anger which the announcement had produced;
but, feigning not to perceive either, he immediately resumed
the narrative begun by his wife. "Sir," said he, "you are
aware that Valentine is about to enter her nineteenth year,
which renders it important that she should lose no time in
forming a suitable alliance. Nevertheless, you have not been
forgotten in our plans, and we have fully ascertained
beforehand that Valentine's future husband will consent, not
to live in this house, for that might not be pleasant for
the young people, but that you should live with them; so
that you and Valentine, who are so attached to each other,
would not be separated, and you would be able to pursue
exactly the same course of life which you have hitherto
done, and thus, instead of losing, you will be a gainer by
the change, as it will secure to you two children instead of
one, to watch over and comfort you."

Noirtier's look was furious; it was very evident that
something desperate was passing in the old man's mind, for a
cry of anger and grief rose in his throat, and not being
able to find vent in utterance, appeared almost to choke
him, for his face and lips turned quite purple with the
struggle. Villefort quietly opened a window, saying, "It is
very warm, and the heat affects M. Noirtier." He then
returned to his place, but did not sit down. "This
marriage," added Madame de Villefort, "is quite agreeable to
the wishes of M. d'Epinay and his family; besides, he had no
relations nearer than an uncle and aunt, his mother having
died at his birth, and his father having been assassinated
in 1815, that is to say, when he was but two years old; it
naturally followed that the child was permitted to choose
his own pursuits, and he has, therefore, seldom acknowledged
any other authority but that of his own will."

"That assassination was a mysterious affair," said
Villefort, "and the perpetrators have hitherto escaped
detection, although suspicion has fallen on the head of more
than one person." Noirtier made such an effort that his lips
expanded into a smile.

"Now," continued Villefort, "those to whom the guilt really
belongs, by whom the crime was committed, on whose heads the
justice of man may probably descend here, and the certain
judgment of God hereafter, would rejoice in the opportunity
thus afforded of bestowing such a peace-offering as
Valentine on the son of him whose life they so ruthlessly
destroyed." Noirtier had succeeded in mastering his emotion
more than could have been deemed possible with such an
enfeebled and shattered frame. "Yes, I understand," was the
reply contained in his look; and this look expressed a
feeling of strong indignation, mixed with profound contempt.
Villefort fully understood his father's meaning, and
answered by a slight shrug of his shoulders. He then
motioned to his wife to take leave. "Now sir," said Madame
de Villefort, "I must bid you farewell. Would you like me to
send Edward to you for a short time?"

It had been agreed that the old man should express his
approbation by closing his eyes, his refusal by winking them
several times, and if he had some desire or feeling to
express, he raised them to heaven. If he wanted Valentine,
he closed his right eye only, and if Barrois, the left. At
Madame de Villefort's proposition he instantly winked his
eyes. Provoked by a complete refusal, she bit her lip and
said, "Then shall I send Valentine to you?" The old man
closed his eyes eagerly, thereby intimating that such was
his wish. M. and Madame de Villefort bowed and left the
room, giving orders that Valentine should be summoned to her
grandfather's presence, and feeling sure that she would have
much to do to restore calmness to the perturbed spirit of
the invalid. Valentine, with a color still heightened by
emotion, entered the room just after her parents had quitted
it. One look was sufficient to tell her that her grandfather
was suffering, and that there was much on his mind which he
was wishing to communicate to her. "Dear grandpapa," cried
she, "what has happened? They have vexed you, and you are
angry?" The paralytic closed his eyes in token of assent.
"Who has displeased you? Is it my father?"

"No."

"Madame de Villefort?"

"No."

"Me?" The former sign was repeated. "Are you displeased with
me?" cried Valentine in astonishment. M. Noirtier again
closed his eyes. "And what have I done, dear grandpapa, that
you should be angry with me?" cried Valentine.

There was no answer, and she continued. "I have not seen you
all day. Has any one been speaking to you against me?"

"Yes," said the old man's look, with eagerness.

"Let me think a moment. I do assure you, grandpapa -- Ah --
M. and Madame de Villefort have just left this room, have
they not?"

"Yes."

"And it was they who told you something which made you
angry? What was it then? May I go and ask them, that I may
have the opportunity of making my peace with you?"

"No, no," said Noirtier's look.

"Ah, you frighten me. What can they have said?" and she
again tried to think what it could be.

"Ah, I know," said she, lowering her voice and going close
to the old man. "They have been speaking of my marriage, --
have they not?"

"Yes," replied the angry look.

"I understand; you are displeased at the silence I have
preserved on the subject. The reason of it was, that they
had insisted on my keeping the matter a secret, and begged
me not to tell you anything of it. They did not even
acquaint me with their intentions, and I only discovered
them by chance, that is why I have been so reserved with
you, dear grandpapa. Pray forgive me." But there was no look
calculated to reassure her; all it seemed to say was, "It is
not only your reserve which afflicts me."

"What is it, then?" asked the young girl. "Perhaps you think
I shall abandon you, dear grandpapa, and that I shall forget
you when I am married?"

"No."

"They told you, then, that M. d'Epinay consented to our all
living together?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you still vexed and grieved?" The old man's
eyes beamed with an expression of gentle affection. "Yes, I
understand," said Valentine; "it is because you love me."
The old man assented. "And you are afraid I shall be
unhappy?"

"Yes."

"You do not like M. Franz?" The eyes repeated several times,
"No, no, no."

"Then you are vexed with the engagement?"

"Yes."

"Well, listen," said Valentine, throwing herself on her
knees, and putting her arm round her grandfather's neck, "I
am vexed, too, for I do not love M. Franz d'Epinay." An
expression of intense joy illumined the old man's eyes.
"When I wished to retire into a convent, you remember how
angry you were with me?" A tear trembled in the eye of the
invalid. "Well," continued Valentine, "the reason of my
proposing it was that I might escape this hateful marriage,
which drives me to despair." Noirtier's breathing came thick
and short. "Then the idea of this marriage really grieves
you too? Ah, if you could but help me -- if we could both
together defeat their plan! But you are unable to oppose
them, -- you, whose mind is so quick, and whose will is so
firm are nevertheless, as weak and unequal to the contest as
I am myself. Alas, you, who would have been such a powerful
protector to me in the days of your health and strength, can
now only sympathize in my joys and sorrows, without being
able to take any active part in them. However, this is much,
and calls for gratitude and heaven has not taken away all my
blessings when it leaves me your sympathy and kindness."

At these words there appeared in Noirtier's eye an
expression of such deep meaning that the young girl thought
she could read these words there: "You are mistaken; I can
still do much for you."

"Do you think you can help me, dear grandpapa?" said
Valentine.

"Yes." Noirtier raised his eyes, it was the sign agreed on
between him and Valentine when he wanted anything.

"What is it you want, dear grandpapa?" said Valentine, and
she endeavored to recall to mind all the things which he
would be likely to need; and as the ideas presented
themselves to her mind, she repeated them aloud, then, --
finding that all her efforts elicited nothing but a constant
"No," -- she said, "Come, since this plan does not answer, I
will have recourse to another." She then recited all the
letters of the alphabet from A down to N. When she arrived
at that letter the paralytic made her understand that she
had spoken the initial letter of the thing he wanted. "Ah,"
said Valentine, "the thing you desire begins with the letter
N; it is with N that we have to do, then. Well, let me see,
what can you want that begins with N? Na -- Ne -- Ni -- No"
--

"Yes, yes, yes," said the old man's eye.

"Ah, it is No, then?"

"Yes." Valentine fetched a dictionary, which she placed on a
desk before Noirtier; she opened it, and, seeing that the
odd man's eye was thoroughly fixed on its pages, she ran her
finger quickly up and down the columns. During the six years
which had passed since Noirtier first fell into this sad
state, Valentine's powers of invention had been too often
put to the test not to render her expert in devising
expedients for gaining a knowledge of his wishes, and the
constant practice had so perfected her in the art that she
guessed the old man's meaning as quickly as if he himself
had been able to seek for what he wanted. At the word
"Notary," Noirtier made a sign to her to stop. "Notary,"
said she, "do you want a notary, dear grandpapa?" The old
man again signified that it was a notary he desired.

"You would wish a notary to be sent for then?" said
Valentine.

"Yes."

"Shall my father be informed of your wish?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish the notary to be sent for immediately?"

"Yes."

"Then they shall go for him directly, dear grandpapa. Is
that all you want?"

"Yes." Valentine rang the bell, and ordered the servant to
tell Monsieur or Madame de Villefort that they were
requested to come to M. Noirtier's room. "Are you satisfied
now?" inquired Valentine.

"Yes."

"I am sure you are; it is not very difficult to discover
that," -- and the young girl smiled on her grandfather, as
if he had been a child. M. de Villefort entered, followed by
Barrois. "What do you want me for, sir?" demanded he of the
paralytic.

"Sir," said Valentine, "my grandfather wishes for a notary."
At this strange and unexpected demand M. de Villefort and
his father exchanged looks. "Yes," motioned the latter, with
a firmness which seemed to declare that with the help of
Valentine and his old servant, who both knew what his wishes
were, he was quite prepared to maintain the contest. "Do you
wish for a notary?" asked Villefort.

"Yes."

"What to do?"

Noirtier made no answer. "What do you want with a notary?"
again repeated Villefort. The invalid's eye remained fixed,
by which expression he intended to intimate that his
resolution was unalterable. "Is it to do us some ill turn?
Do you think it is worth while?" said Villefort.

"Still," said Barrois, with the freedom and fidelity of an
old servant, "if M. Noirtier asks for a notary, I suppose he
really wishes for a notary; therefore I shall go at once and
fetch one." Barrois acknowledged no master but Noirtier, and
never allowed his desires in any way to be contradicted.

"Yes, I do want a notary," motioned the old man, shutting
his eyes with a look of defiance, which seemed to say, "and
I should like to see the person who dares to refuse my
request."

"You shall have a notary, as you absolutely wish for one,
sir," said Villefort; "but I shall explain to him your state
of health, and make excuses for you, for the scene cannot
fail of being a most ridiculous one."

"Never mind that," said Barrois; "I shall go and fetch a
notary, nevertheless," -- and the old servant departed
triumphantly on his mission.

Chapter 59
The Will.

As soon as Barrois had left the room, Noirtier looked at
Valentine with a malicious expression that said many things.
The young girl perfectly understood the look, and so did
Villefort, for his countenance became clouded, and he
knitted his eyebrows angrily. He took a seat, and quietly
awaited the arrival of the notary. Noirtier saw him seat
himself with an appearance of perfect indifference, at the
same time giving a side look at Valentine, which made her
understand that she also was to remain in the room.
Three-quarters of an hour after, Barrois returned, bringing
the notary with him. "Sir," said Villefort, after the first
salutations were over, "you were sent for by M. Noirtier,
whom you see here. All his limbs have become completely
paralysed, he has lost his voice also, and we ourselves find
much trouble in endeavoring to catch some fragments of his
meaning." Noirtier cast an appealing look on Valentine,
which look was at once so earnest and imperative, that she
answered immediately. "Sir," said she, "I perfectly
understand my grandfather's meaning at all times."

"That is quite true," said Barrois; "and that is what I told
the gentleman as we walked along."

"Permit me," said the notary, turning first to Villefort and
then to Valentine -- "permit me to state that the case in
question is just one of those in which a public officer like
myself cannot proceed to act without thereby incurring a
dangerous responsibility. The first thing necessary to
render an act valid is, that the notary should be thoroughly
convinced that he has faithfully interpreted the will and
wishes of the person dictating the act. Now I cannot be sure
of the approbation or disapprobation of a client who cannot
speak, and as the object of his desire or his repugnance
cannot be clearly proved to me, on account of his want of
speech, my services here would be quite useless, and cannot
be legally exercised." The notary then prepared to retire.
An imperceptible smile of triumph was expressed on the lips
of the procureur. Noirtier looked at Valentine with an
expression so full of grief, that she arrested the departure
of the notary. "Sir," said she, "the language which I speak
with my grandfather may be easily learnt, and I can teach
you in a few minutes, to understand it almost as well as I
can myself. Will you tell me what you require, in order to
set your conscience quite at ease on the subject?"

"In order to render an act valid, I must be certain of the
approbation or disapprobation of my client. Illness of body
would not affect the validity of the deed, but sanity of
mind is absolutely requisite."

"Well, sir, by the help of two signs, with which I will
acquaint you presently, you may ascertain with perfect
certainty that my grandfather is still in the full
possession of all his mental faculties. M. Noirtier, being
deprived of voice and motion, is accustomed to convey his
meaning by closing his eyes when he wishes to signify `yes,'
and to wink when he means `no.' You now know quite enough to
enable you to converse with M. Noirtier; -- try." Noirtier
gave Valentine such a look of tenderness and gratitude that
it was comprehended even by the notary himself. "You have
heard and understood what your granddaughter has been
saying, sir, have you?" asked the notary. Noirtier closed
his eyes. "And you approve of what she said -- that is to
say, you declare that the signs which she mentioned are
really those by means of which you are accustomed to convey
your thoughts?"

"Yes."

"It was you who sent for me?"

"Yes."

"To make your will?"

"Yes."

"And you do not wish me to go away without fulfilling your
original intentions?" The old man winked violently. "Well,
sir," said the young girl, "do you understand now, and is
your conscience perfectly at rest on the subject?" But
before the notary could answer, Villefort had drawn him
aside. "Sir," said he, "do you suppose for a moment that a
man can sustain a physical shock, such as M. Noirtier has
received, without any detriment to his mental faculties?"

"It is not exactly that, sir," said the notary, "which makes
me uneasy, but the difficulty will be in wording his
thoughts and intentions, so as to be able to get his
answers."

"You must see that to be an utter impossibility," said
Villefort. Valentine and the old man heard this
conversation, and Noirtier fixed his eye so earnestly on
Valentine that she felt bound to answer to the look.

"Sir," said she, "that need not make you uneasy, however
difficult it may at first sight appear to be. I can discover
and explain to you my grandfather's thoughts, so as to put
an end to all your doubts and fears on the subject. I have
now been six years with M. Noirtier, and let him tell you if
ever once, during that time, he has entertained a thought
which he was unable to make me understand."

"No," signed the old man.

"Let us try what we can do, then," said the notary. "You
accept this young lady as your interpreter, M. Noirtier?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, what do you require of me, and what document is
it that you wish to be drawn up?" Valentine named all the
letters of the alphabet until she came to W. At this letter
the eloquent eye of Noirtier gave her notice that she was to
stop. "It is very evident that it is the letter W which M.
Noirtier wants," said the notary. "Wait," said Valentine;
and, turning to her grandfather, she repeated, "Wa -- We --
Wi" -- The old man stopped her at the last syllable.
Valentine then took the dictionary, and the notary watched
her while she turned over the pages. She passed her finger
slowly down the columns, and when she came to the word
"Will," M. Noirtier's eye bade her stop. "Will," said the
notary; "it is very evident that M. Noirtier is desirous of
making his will."

"Yes, yes, yes," motioned the invalid.

"Really, sir, you must allow that this is most
extraordinary," said the astonished notary, turning to M. de
Villefort. "Yes," said the procureur, "and I think the will
promises to be yet more extraordinary, for I cannot see how
it is to be drawn up without the intervention of Valentine,
and she may, perhaps, be considered as too much interested
in its contents to allow of her being a suitable interpreter
of the obscure and ill-defined wishes of her grandfather."

"No, no, no," replied the eye of the paralytic.

"What?" said Villefort, "do you mean to say that Valentine
is not interested in your will?"

"No."

"Sir," said the notary, whose interest had been greatly
excited, and who had resolved on publishing far and wide the
account of this extraordinary and picturesque scene, "what
appeared so impossible to me an hour ago, has now become
quite easy and practicable, and this may be a perfectly
valid will, provided it be read in the presence of seven
witnesses, approved by the testator, and sealed by the
notary in the presence of the witnesses. As to the time, it
will not require very much more than the generality of
wills. There are certain forms necessary to be gone through,
and which are always the same. As to the details, the
greater part will be furnished afterwards by the state in
which we find the affairs of the testator, and by yourself,
who, having had the management of them, can doubtless give
full information on the subject. But besides all this, in
order that the instrument may not be contested, I am anxious
to give it the greatest possible authenticity, therefore,
one of my colleagues will help me, and, contrary to custom,
will assist in the dictation of the testament. Are you
satisfied, sir?" continued the notary, addressing the old
man.

"Yes," looked the invalid, his eye beaming with delight at
the ready interpretation of his meaning.

"What is he going to do?" thought Villefort, whose position
demanded much reserve, but who was longing to know what his
father's intentions were. He left the room to give orders
for another notary to be sent, but Barrois, who had heard
all that passed, had guessed his master's wishes, and had
already gone to fetch one. The procureur then told his wife
to come up. In the course of a quarter of an hour every one
had assembled in the chamber of the paralytic; the second
notary had also arrived. A few words sufficed for a mutual
understanding between the two officers of the law. They read
to Noirtier the formal copy of a will, in order to give him
an idea of the terms in which such documents are generally
couched; then, in order to test the capacity of the
testator, the first notary said, turning towards him, --
"When an individual makes his will, it is generally in favor
or in prejudice of some person."

"Yes."

"Have you an exact idea of the amount of your fortune?"

"Yes."

"I will name to you several sums which will increase by
gradation; you will stop me when I reach the one
representing the amount of your own possessions?"

"Yes." There was a kind of solemnity in this interrogation.
Never had the struggle between mind and matter been more
apparent than now, and if it was not a sublime, it was, at
least, a curious spectacle. They had formed a circle round
the invalid; the second notary was sitting at a table,
prepared for writing, and his colleague was standing before
the testator in the act of interrogating him on the subject
to which we have alluded. "Your fortune exceeds 300,000
francs, does it not?" asked he. Noirtier made a sign that it
did. "Do you possess 400,000 francs?" inquired the notary.
Noirtier's eye remained immovable. "Five hundred thousand?"
The same expression continued. "Six hundred thousand --
700,000 -- 800,000 -- 900,000?" Noirtier stopped him at the
last-named sum. "You are then in possession of 900,000
francs?" asked the notary. "Yes."

"In landed property?"

"No."

"In stock?"

"Yes."

"The stock is in your own hands?" The look which M. Noirtier
cast on Barrois showed that there was something wanting
which he knew where to find. The old servant left the room,
and presently returned, bringing with him a small casket.
"Do you permit us to open this casket?" asked the notary.
Noirtier gave his assent. They opened it, and found 900,000
francs in bank scrip. The first notary handed over each
note, as he examined it, to his colleague.

The total amount was found to be as M. Noirtier had stated.
"It is all as he has said; it is very evident that the mind
still retains its full force and vigor." Then, turning
towards the paralytic, he said, "You possess, then, 900,000
francs of capital, which, according to the manner in which
you have invested it, ought to bring in an income of about
40,000 livres?"

"Yes."

"To whom do you desire to leave this fortune?"

"Oh," said Madame de Villefort, "there is not much doubt on
that subject. M. Noirtier tenderly loves his granddaughter,
Mademoiselle de Villefort; it is she who has nursed and
tended him for six years, and has, by her devoted attention,
fully secured the affection, I had almost said the
gratitude, of her grandfather, and it is but just that she
should reap the fruit of her devotion." The eye of Noirtier
clearly showed by its expression that he was not deceived by
the false assent given by Madame de Villefort's words and
manner to the motives which she supposed him to entertain.
"Is it, then, to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort that
you leave these 900,000 francs?" demanded the notary,
thinking he had only to insert this clause, but waiting
first for the assent of Noirtier, which it was necessary
should be given before all the witnesses of this singular
scene. Valentine, when her name was made the subject of
discussion, had stepped back, to escape unpleasant
observation; her eyes were cast down, and she was crying.
The old man looked at her for an instant with an expression
of the deepest tenderness, then, turning towards the notary,
he significantly winked his eye in token of dissent.

"What," said the notary, "do you not intend making
Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort your residuary legatee?"

"No."

"You are not making any mistake, are you?" said the notary;
"you really mean to declare that such is not your
intention?"

"No," repeated Noirtier; "No." Valentine raised her head,
struck dumb with astonishment. It was not so much the
conviction that she was disinherited that caused her grief,
but her total inability to account for the feelings which
had provoked her grandfather to such an act. But Noirtier
looked at her with so much affectionate tenderness that she
exclaimed, "Oh, grandpapa, I see now that it is only your
fortune of which you deprive me; you still leave me the love
which I have always enjoyed."

"Ah, yes, most assuredly," said the eyes of the paralytic,
for he closed them with an expression which Valentine could
not mistake. "Thank you, thank you," murmured she. The old
man's declaration that Valentine was not the destined
inheritor of his fortune had excited the hopes of Madame de
Villefort; she gradually approached the invalid, and said:
"Then, doubtless, dear M. Noirtier, you intend leaving your
fortune to your grandson, Edward de Villefort?" The winking
of the eyes which answered this speech was most decided and
terrible, and expressed a feeling almost amounting to
hatred.

"No?" said the notary; "then, perhaps, it is to your son, M.
de Villefort?"

"No." The two notaries looked at each other in mute
astonishment and inquiry as to what were the real intentions
of the testator. Villefort and his wife both grew red, one
from shame, the other from anger.

"What have we all done, then, dear grandpapa?" said
Valentine; "you no longer seem to love any of us?" The old
man's eyes passed rapidly from Villefort and his wife, and
rested on Valentine with a look of unutterable fondness.
"Well," said she; "if you love me, grandpapa, try and bring
that love to bear upon your actions at this present moment.
You know me well enough to be quite sure that I have never
thought of your fortune; besides, they say I am already rich
in right of my mother -- too rich, even. Explain yourself,
then." Noirtier fixed his intelligent eyes on Valentine's
hand. "My hand?" said she.

"Yes."

"Her hand!" exclaimed every one.

"Oh, gentlemen, you see it is all useless, and that my
father's mind is really impaired," said Villefort.

"Ah," cried Valentine suddenly, "I understand. It is my
marriage you mean, is it not, dear grandpapa?"

"Yes, yes, yes," signed the paralytic, casting on Valentine
a look of joyful gratitude for having guessed his meaning.

"You are angry with us all on account of this marriage, are
you not?"

"Yes?"

"Really, this is too absurd," said Villefort.

"Excuse me, sir," replied the notary; "on the contrary, the
meaning of M. Noirtier is quite evident to me, and I can
quite easily connect the train of ideas passing in his
mind."

"You do not wish me to marry M. Franz d'Epinay?" observed
Valentine.

"I do not wish it," said the eye of her grandfather. "And
you disinherit your granddaughter," continued the notary,
"because she has contracted an engagement contrary to your
wishes?"

"Yes."

"So that, but for this marriage, she would have been your
heir?"

"Yes." There was a profound silence. The two notaries were
holding a consultation as to the best means of proceeding
with the affair. Valentine was looking at her grandfather
with a smile of intense gratitude, and Villefort was biting
his lips with vexation, while Madame de Villefort could not
succeed in repressing an inward feeling of joy, which, in
spite of herself, appeared in her whole countenance. "But,"
said Villefort, who was the first to break the silence, "I
consider that I am the best judge of the propriety of the
marriage in question. I am the only person possessing the
right to dispose of my daughter's hand. It is my wish that
she should marry M. Franz d'Epinay -- and she shall marry
him." Valentine sank weeping into a chair.

"Sir," said the notary, "how do you intend disposing of your
fortune in case Mademoiselle de Villefort still determines
on marrying M. Franz?" The old man gave no answer. "You
will, of course, dispose of it in some way or other?"

"Yes."

"In favor of some member of your family?"

"No."

"Do you intend devoting it to charitable purposes, then?"
pursued the notary.

"Yes."

"But," said the notary, "you are aware that the law does not
allow a son to be entirely deprived of his patrimony?"

"Yes."

"You only intend, then, to dispose of that part of your
fortune which the law allows you to subtract from the
inheritance of your son?" Noirtier made no answer. "Do you
still wish to dispose of all?"

"Yes."

"But they will contest the will after your death?"

"No."

"My father knows me," replied Villefort; "he is quite sure
that his wishes will be held sacred by me; besides, he
understands that in my position I cannot plead against the
poor." The eye of Noirtier beamed with triumph. "What do you
decide on, sir?" asked the notary of Villefort.

"Nothing, sir; it is a resolution which my father has taken
and I know he never alters his mind. I am quite resigned.
These 900,000 francs will go out of the family in order to
enrich some hospital; but it is ridiculous thus to yield to
the caprices of an old man, and I shall, therefore, act
according to my conscience." Having said this, Villefort
quitted the room with his wife, leaving his father at
liberty to do as he pleased. The same day the will was made,
the witnesses were brought, it was approved by the old man,
sealed in the presence of all and given in charge to M.
Deschamps, the family notary.

Chapter 60
The Telegraph.

M. and Madame de Villefort found on their return that the
Count of Monte Cristo, who had come to visit them in their
absence, had been ushered into the drawing-room, and was
still awaiting them there. Madame de Villefort, who had not
yet sufficiently recovered from her late emotion to allow of
her entertaining visitors so immediately, retired to her
bedroom, while the procureur, who could better depend upon
himself, proceeded at once to the salon. Although M. de
Villefort flattered himself that, to all outward view, he
had completely masked the feelings which were passing in his
mind, he did not know that the cloud was still lowering on
his brow, so much so that the count, whose smile was
radiant, immediately noticed his sombre and thoughtful air.
"Ma foi," said Monte Cristo, after the first compliments
were over, "what is the matter with you, M. de Villefort?
Have I arrived at the moment when you were drawing up an
indictment for a capital crime?" Villefort tried to smile.
"No, count," he replied, "I am the only victim in this case.
It is I who lose my cause, and it is ill-luck, obstinacy,
and folly which have caused it to be decided against me."

"To what do you refer?" said Monte Cristo with well-feigned
interest. "Have you really met with some great misfortune?"

"Oh, no, monsieur," said Villefort with a bitter smile; "it
is only a loss of money which I have sustained -- nothing
worth mentioning, I assure you."

"True," said Monte Cristo, "the loss of a sum of money
becomes almost immaterial with a fortune such as you
possess, and to one of your philosophic spirit."

"It is not so much the loss of the money that vexes me,"
said Villefort, "though, after all, 900,000 francs are worth
regretting; but I am the more annoyed with this fate,
chance, or whatever you please to call the power which has
destroyed my hopes and my fortune, and may blast the
prospects of my child also, as it is all occasioned by an
old man relapsed into second childhood."

"What do you say?" said the count; "900,000 francs? It is
indeed a sum which might be regretted even by a philosopher.
And who is the cause of all this annoyance?"

"My father, as I told you."

"M. Noirtier? But I thought you told me he had become
entirely paralyzed, and that all his faculties were
completely destroyed?"

"Yes, his bodily faculties, for he can neither move nor
speak, nevertheless he thinks, acts, and wills in the manner
I have described. I left him about five minutes ago, and he
is now occupied in dictating his will to two notaries."

"But to do this he must have spoken?"

"He has done better than that -- he has made himself
understood."

"How was such a thing possible?"

"By the help of his eyes, which are still full of life, and,
as you perceive, possess the power of inflicting mortal
injury."

"My dear," said Madame de Villefort, who had just entered
the room, "perhaps you exaggerate the evil."

"Good-morning, madame," said the count, bowing. Madame de
Villefort acknowledged the salutation with one of her most
gracious smiles. "What is this that M. de Villefort has been
telling me?" demanded Monte Cristo "and what
incomprehensible misfortune" --

"Incomprehensible is not the word," interrupted the
procureur, shrugging his shoulders. "It is an old man's
caprice."

"And is there no means of making him revoke his decision?"

"Yes," said Madame de Villefort; "and it is still entirely
in the power of my husband to cause the will, which is now
in prejudice of Valentine, to be altered in her favor." The
count, who perceived that M. and Madame de Villefort were
beginning to speak in parables, appeared to pay no attention
to the conversation, and feigned to be busily engaged in
watching Edward, who was mischievously pouring some ink into
the bird's water-glass. "My dear," said Villefort, in answer
to his wife, "you know I have never been accustomed to play
the patriarch in my family, nor have I ever considered that
the fate of a universe was to be decided by my nod.
Nevertheless, it is necessary that my will should be
respected in my family, and that the folly of an old man and
the caprice of a child should not be allowed to overturn a
project which I have entertained for so many years. The
Baron d'Epinay was my friend, as you know, and an alliance
with his son is the most suitable thing that could possibly
be arranged."

"Do you think," said Madame de Villefort, "that Valentine is
in league with him? She has always been opposed to this
marriage, and I should not be at all surprised if what we
have just seen and heard is nothing but the execution of a
plan concerted between them."

"Madame," said Villefort, "believe me, a fortune of 900,000
francs is not so easily renounced."

"She could, nevertheless, make up her mind to renounce the
world, sir, since it is only about a year ago that she
herself proposed entering a convent."

"Never mind," replied Villefort; "I say that this marriage
shall be consummated."

"Notwithstanding your father's wishes to the contrary?" said
Madame de Villefort, selecting a new point of attack. "That
is a serious thing." Monte Cristo, who pretended not to be
listening, heard however, every word that was said.
"Madame," replied Villefort "I can truly say that I have
always entertained a high respect for my father, because, to
the natural feeling of relationship was added the
consciousness of his moral superiority. The name of father
is sacred in two senses; he should be reverenced as the
author of our being and as a master whom we ought to obey.
But, under the present circumstances, I am justified in
doubting the wisdom of an old man who, because he hated the
father, vents his anger on the son. It would be ridiculous
in me to regulate my conduct by such caprices. I shall still
continue to preserve the same respect toward M. Noirtier; I
will suffer, without complaint, the pecuniary deprivation to
which he has subjected me; but I shall remain firm in my
determination, and the world shall see which party his
reason on his side. Consequently I shall marry my daughter
to the Baron Franz d'Epinay, because I consider it would be
a proper and eligible match for her to make, and, in short,
because I choose to bestow my daughter's hand on whomever I
please."

"What?" said the count, the approbation of whose eye
Villefort had frequently solicited during this speech.
"What? Do you say that M. Noirtier disinherits Mademoiselle
de Villefort because she is going to marry M. le Baron Franz
d'Epinay?"

"Yes, sir, that is the reason," said Villefort, shrugging
his shoulders.

"The apparent reason, at least," said Madame de Villefort.

"The real reason, madame, I can assure you; I know my
father."

"But I want to know in what way M. d'Epinay can have
displeased your father more than any other person?"

"I believe I know M. Franz d'Epinay," said the count; "is he
not the son of General de Quesnel, who was created Baron
d'Epinay by Charles X.?"

"The same," said Villefort.

"Well, but he is a charming young man, according to my
ideas."

"He is, which makes me believe that it is only an excuse of
M. Noirtier to prevent his granddaughter marrying; old men
are always so selfish in their affection," said Madame de
Villefort.

"But," said Monte Cristo "do you not know any cause for this
hatred?"

"Ah, ma foi, who is to know?"

"Perhaps it is some political difference?"

"My father and the Baron d'Epinay lived in the stormy times
of which I only saw the ending," said Villefort.

"Was not your father a Bonapartist?" asked Monte Cristo; "I
think I remember that you told me something of that kind."

"My father has been a Jacobin more than anything else," said
Villefort, carried by his emotion beyond the bounds of
prudence; "and the senator's robe, which Napoleon cast on
his shoulders, only served to disguise the old man without
in any degree changing him. When my father conspired, it was
not for the emperor, it was against the Bourbons; for M.
Noirtier possessed this peculiarity, he never projected any
Utopian schemes which could never be realized, but strove
for possibilities, and he applied to the realization of
these possibilities the terrible theories of The Mountain,
-- theories that never shrank from any means that were
deemed necessary to bring about the desired result."

"Well," said Monte Cristo, "it is just as I thought; it was
politics which brought Noirtier and M. d'Epinay into
personal contact. Although General d'Epinay served under
Napoleon, did he not still retain royalist sentiments? And
was he not the person who was assassinated one evening on
leaving a Bonapartist meeting to which he had been invited
on the supposition that he favored the cause of the
emperor?" Villefort looked at the count almost with terror.
"Am I mistaken, then?" said Monte Cristo.

"No, sir, the facts were precisely what you have stated,"
said Madame de Villefort; "and it was to prevent the renewal
of old feuds that M. de Villefort formed the idea of uniting
in the bonds of affection the two children of these
inveterate enemies."

"It was a sublime and charitable thought," said Monte
Cristo, "and the whole world should applaud it. It would be
noble to see Mademoiselle Noirtier de Villefort assuming the
title of Madame Franz d'Epinay." Villefort shuddered and
looked at Monte Cristo as if he wished to read in his
countenance the real feelings which had dictated the words
he had just uttered. But the count completely baffled the
procureur, and prevented him from discovering anything
beneath the never-varying smile he was so constantly in the
habit of assuming. "Although," said Villefort, "it will be a
serious thing for Valentine to lose her grandfather's
fortune, I do not think that M. d'Epinay will be frightened
at this pecuniary loss. He will, perhaps, hold me in greater
esteem than the money itself, seeing that I sacrifice
everything in order to keep my word with him. Besides, he
knows that Valentine is rich in right of her mother, and
that she will, in all probability, inherit the fortune of M.
and Madame de Saint-Meran, her mother's parents, who both
love her tenderly."

"And who are fully as well worth loving and tending as M.
Noirtier," said Madame de Villefort; "besides, they are to
come to Paris in about a month, and Valentine, after the
affront she has received, need not consider it necessary to
continue to bury herself alive by being shut up with M.
Noirtier." The count listened with satisfaction to this tale
of wounded self-love and defeated ambition. "But it seems to
me," said Monte Cristo, "and I must begin by asking your
pardon for what I am about to say, that if M. Noirtier
disinherits Mademoiselle de Villefort because she is going
to marry a man whose father he detested, he cannot have the
same cause of complaint against this dear Edward."

"True," said Madame de Villefort, with an intonation of
voice which it is impossible to describe; "is it not unjust
-- shamefully unjust? Poor Edward is as much M. Noirtier's
grandchild as Valentine, and yet, if she had not been going
to marry M. Franz, M. Noirtier would have left her all his
money; and supposing Valentine to be disinherited by her
grandfather, she will still be three times richer than he."
The count listened and said no more. "Count," said
Villefort, "we will not entertain you any longer with our
family misfortunes. It is true that my patrimony will go to
endow charitable institutions, and my father will have
deprived me of my lawful inheritance without any reason for
doing so, but I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that
I have acted like a man of sense and feeling. M. d'Epinay,
to whom I had promised the interest of this sum, shall
receive it, even if I endure the most cruel privations."

"However," said Madame de Villefort, returning to the one
idea which incessantly occupied her mind, "perhaps it would
be better to explain this unlucky affair to M. d'Epinay, in
order to give him the opportunity of himself renouncing his
claim to the hand of Mademoiselle de Villefort."

"Ah, that would be a great pity," said Villefort.

"A great pity," said Monte Cristo.

"Undoubtedly," said Villefort, moderating the tones of his
voice, "a marriage once concerted and then broken off,
throws a sort of discredit on a young lady; then again, the
old reports, which I was so anxious to put an end to, will
instantly gain ground. No, it will all go well; M. d'Epinay,
if he is an honorable man, will consider himself more than
ever pledged to Mademoiselle de Villefort, unless he were
actuated by a decided feeling of avarice, but that is
impossible."

"I agree with M. de Villefort," said Monte Cristo, fixing
his eyes on Madame de Villefort; "and if I were sufficiently
intimate with him to allow of giving my advice, I would
persuade him, since I have been told M. d'Epinay is coming
back, to settle this affair at once beyond all possibility
of revocation. I will answer for the success of a project
which will reflect so much honor on M. de Villefort." The
procureur arose, delighted with the proposition, but his
wife slightly changed color. "Well, that is all that I
wanted, and I will be guided by a counsellor such as you
are," said he, extending his hand to Monte Cristo.
"Therefore let every one here look upon what has passed
to-day as if it had not happened, and as though we had never
thought of such a thing as a change in our original plans."

"Sir," said the count, "the world, unjust as it is, will be
pleased with your resolution; your friends will be proud of
you, and M. d'Epinay, even if he took Mademoiselle de
Villefort without any dowry, which he will not do, would be
delighted with the idea of entering a family which could
make such sacrifices in order to keep a promise and fulfil a
duty." At the conclusion of these words, the count rose to
depart. "Are you going to leave us, count?" said Madame de
Villefort.

"I am sorry to say I must do so, madame, I only came to
remind you of your promise for Saturday."

"Did you fear that we should forget it?"

"You are very good, madame, but M. de Villefort has so many
important and urgent occupations."

"My husband has given me his word, sir," said Madame de
Villefort; "you have just seen him resolve to keep it when
he has everything to lose, and surely there is more reason
for his doing so where he has everything to gain."

"And," said Villefort, "is it at your house in the
Champs-Elysees that you receive your visitors?"

"No," said Monte Cristo, "which is precisely the reason
which renders your kindness more meritorious, -- it is in
the country."

"In the country?"

"Yes."

"Where is it, then? Near Paris, is it not?"

"Very near, only half a league from the Barriers, -- it is
at Auteuil."

"At Auteuil?" said Villefort; "true, Madame de Villefort
told me you lived at Auteuil, since it was to your house
that she was taken. And in what part of Auteuil do you
reside?"

"Rue de la Fontaine."

"Rue de la Fontaine!" exclaimed Villefort in an agitated
tone; "at what number?"

"No. 28."

"Then," cried Villefort, "was it you who bought M. de
Saint-Meran's house!"

"Did it belong to M. de Saint-Meran?" demanded Monte Cristo.

"Yes," replied Madame de Villefort; "and, would you believe
it, count" --

"Believe what?"

"You think this house pretty, do you not?"

"I think it charming."

"Well, my husband would never live in it."

"Indeed?" returned Monte Cristo, "that is a prejudice on
your part, M. de Villefort, for which I am quite at a loss
to account."

"I do not like Auteuil, sir," said the procureur, making an
evident effort to appear calm.

"But I hope you will not carry your antipathy so far as to
deprive me of the pleasure of your company, sir," said Monte
Cristo.

"No, count, -- I hope -- I assure you I shall do my best,"
stammered Villefort.

"Oh," said Monte Cristo, "I allow of no excuse. On Saturday,
at six o'clock. I shall be expecting you, and if you fail to
come, I shall think -- for how do I know to the contrary? --
that this house, which his remained uninhabited for twenty
years, must have some gloomy tradition or dreadful legend
connected with it."

"I will come, count, -- I will be sure to come," said
Villefort eagerly.

"Thank you," said Monte Cristo; "now you must permit me to
take my leave of you."

"You said before that you were obliged to leave us,
monsieur," said Madame de Villefort, "and you were about to
tell us why when your attention was called to some other
subject."

"Indeed madame," said Monte Cristo: "I scarcely know if I
dare tell you where I am going."

"Nonsense; say on."

"Well, then, it is to see a thing on which I have sometimes
mused for hours together."

"What is it?"

"A telegraph. So now I have told my secret."

"A telegraph?" repeated Madame de Villefort.

"Yes, a telegraph. I had often seen one placed at the end of
a road on a hillock, and in the light of the sun its black
arms, bending in every direction, always reminded me of the
claws of an immense beetle, and I assure you it was never
without emotion that I gazed on it, for I could not help
thinking how wonderful it was that these various signs
should be made to cleave the air with such precision as to
convey to the distance of three hundred leagues the ideas
and wishes of a man sitting at a table at one end of the
line to another man similarly placed at the opposite
extremity, and all this effected by a simple act of volition
on the part of the sender of the message. I began to think
of genii, sylphs, gnomes, in short, of all the ministers of
the occult sciences, until I laughed aloud at the freaks of
my own imagination. Now, it never occurred to me to wish for
a nearer inspection of these large insects, with their long
black claws, for I always feared to find under their stone
wings some little human genius fagged to death with cabals,
factions, and government intrigues. But one fine day I
learned that the mover of this telegraph was only a poor
wretch, hired for twelve hundred francs a year, and employed
all day, not in studying the heavens like an astronomer, or
in gazing on the water like an angler, or even in enjoying
the privilege of observing the country around him, but all
his monotonous life was passed in watching his
white-bellied, black-clawed fellow insect, four or five
leagues distant from him. At length I felt a desire to study
this living chrysalis more closely, and to endeavor to
understand the secret part played by these insect-actors
when they occupy themselves simply with pulling different
pieces of string."

"And are you going there?"

"I am."

"What telegraph do you intend visiting? that of the home
department, or of the observatory?"

"Oh, no; I should find there people who would force me to
understand things of which I would prefer to remain
ignorant, and who would try to explain to me, in spite of
myself, a mystery which even they do not understand. Ma foi,
I should wish to keep my illusions concerning insects
unimpaired; it is quite enough to have those dissipated
which I had formed of my fellow-creatures. I shall,
therefore, not visit either of these telegraphs, but one in
the open country where I shall find a good-natured
simpleton, who knows no more than the machine he is employed
to work."

"You are a singular man," said Villefort.

"What line would you advise me to study?"

"The one that is most in use just at this time."

"The Spanish one, you mean, I suppose?"

"Yes; should you like a letter to the minister that they
might explain to you" --

"No," said Monte Cristo; "since, as I told you before, I do
not wish to comprehend it. The moment I understand it there
will no longer exist a telegraph for me; it will he nothing
more than a sign from M. Duchatel, or from M. Montalivet,
transmitted to the prefect of Bayonne, mystified by two
Greek words, tele, graphein. It is the insect with black
claws, and the awful word which I wish to retain in my
imagination in all its purity and all its importance."

"Go then; for in the course of two hours it will be dark,
and you will not be able to see anything."

"Ma foi, you frighten me. Which is the nearest way?
Bayonne?"

"Yes; the road to Bayonne."

"And afterwards the road to Chatillon?"

"Yes."

"By the tower of Montlhery, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Good-by. On Saturday I will tell you my
impressions concerning the telegraph." At the door the count
was met by the two notaries, who had just completed the act
which was to disinherit Valentine, and who were leaving
under the conviction of having done a thing which could not
fail of redounding considerably to their credit.

Chapter 61
How a Gardener may get rid of the Dormice that eat His
Peaches.

Not on the same night, as he had intended, but the next
morning, the Count of Monte Cristo went out by the Barrier
d'Enfer, taking the road to Orleans. Leaving the village of
Linas, without stopping at the telegraph, which flourished
its great bony arms as he passed, the count reached the
tower of Montlhery, situated, as every one knows, upon the
highest point of the plain of that name. At the foot of the
hill the count dismounted and began to ascend by a little
winding path, about eighteen inches wide; when he reached
the summit he found himself stopped by a hedge, upon which
green fruit had succeeded to red and white flowers.

Monte Cristo looked for the entrance to the enclosure, and
was not long in finding a little wooden gate, working on
willow hinges, and fastened with a nail and string. The
count soon mastered the mechanism, the gate opened, and he
then found himself in a little garden, about twenty feet
long by twelve wide, bounded on one side by part of the
hedge, which contained the ingenious contrivance we have
called a gate, and on the other by the old tower, covered
with ivy and studded with wall-flowers. No one would have
thought in looking at this old, weather-beaten,
floral-decked tower (which might be likened to an elderly
dame dressed up to receive her grandchildren at a birthday
feast) that it would have been capable of telling strange
things, if, -- in addition to the menacing ears which the
proverb says all walls are provided with, -- it had also a
voice. The garden was crossed by a path of red gravel, edged
by a border of thick box, of many years' growth, and of a
tone and color that would have delighted the heart of
Delacroix, our modern Rubens. This path was formed in the
shape of the figure of 8, thus, in its windings, making a
walk of sixty feet in a garden of only twenty.

Never had Flora, the fresh and smiling goddess of gardeners,
been honored with a purer or more scrupulous worship than
that which was paid to her in this little enclosure. In
fact, of the twenty rose-trees which formed the parterre,
not one bore the mark of the slug, nor were there evidences
anywhere of the clustering aphis which is so destructive to
plants growing in a damp soil. And yet it was not because
the damp had been excluded from the garden; the earth, black
as soot, the thick foliage of the trees betrayed its
presence; besides, had natural humidity been wanting, it
could have been immediately supplied by artificial means,
thanks to a tank of water, sunk in one of the corners of the
garden, and upon which were stationed a frog and a toad,
who, from antipathy, no doubt, always remained on the two
opposite sides of the basin. There was not a blade of grass
to be seen in the paths, or a weed in the flower-beds; no
fine lady ever trained and watered her geraniums, her cacti,
and her rhododendrons, with more pains than this hitherto
unseen gardener bestowed upon his little enclosure. Monte
Cristo stopped after having closed the gate and fastened the
string to the nail, and cast a look around.

"The man at the telegraph," said he, "must either engage a
gardener or devote himself passionately to agriculture."
Suddenly he struck against something crouching behind a
wheelbarrow filled with leaves; the something rose, uttering
an exclamation of astonishment, and Monte Cristo found
himself facing a man about fifty years old, who was plucking
strawberries, which he was placing upon grape leaves. He had
twelve leaves and about as many strawberries, which, on
rising suddenly, he let fall from his hand. "You are
gathering your crop, sir?" said Monte Cristo, smiling.

"Excuse me, sir," replied the man, raising his hand to his
cap; "I am not up there, I know, but I have only just come
down."

"Do not let me interfere with you in anything, my friend,"
said the count; "gather your strawberries, if, indeed, there
are any left."

"I have ten left," said the man, "for here are eleven, and I
had twenty-one, five more than last year. But I am not
surprised; the spring has been warm this year, and
strawberries require heat, sir. This is the reason that,
instead of the sixteen I had last year, I have this year,
you see, eleven, already plucked -- twelve, thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Ah, I miss
three, they were here last night, sir -- I am sure they were
here -- I counted them. It must be the Mere Simon's son who
has stolen them; I saw him strolling about here this
morning. Ah, the young rascal -- stealing in a garden -- he
does not know where that may lead him to."

"Certainly, it is wrong," said Monte Cristo, "but you should
take into consideration the youth and greediness of the
delinquent."

"Of course," said the gardener, "but that does not make it
the less unpleasant. But, sir, once more I beg pardon;
perhaps you are an officer that I am detaining here." And he
glanced timidly at the count's blue coat.

"Calm yourself, my friend," said the count, with the smile
which he made at will either terrible or benevolent, and
which now expressed only the kindliest feeling; "I am not an
inspector, but a traveller, brought here by a curiosity he
half repents of, since he causes you to lose your time."

"Ah, my time is not valuable," replied the man with a
melancholy smile. "Still it belongs to government, and I
ought not to waste it; but, having received the signal that
I might rest for an hour" (here he glanced at the sun-dial,
for there was everything in the enclosure of Montlhery, even
a sun-dial), "and having ten minutes before me, and my
strawberries being ripe, when a day longer -- by-the-by,
sir, do you think dormice eat them?"

"Indeed, I should think not," replied Monte Cristo; "dormice
are bad neighbors for us who do not eat them preserved, as
the Romans did."

"What? Did the Romans eat them?" said the gardener -- "ate
dormice?"

"I have read so in Petronius," said the count.

"Really? They can't be nice, though they do say `as fat as a
dormouse.' It is not a wonder they are fat, sleeping all
day, and only waking to eat all night. Listen. Last year I
had four apricots -- they stole one, I had one nectarine,
only one -- well, sir, they ate half of it on the wall; a
splendid nectarine -- I never ate a better."

"You ate it?"

"That is to say, the half that was left -- you understand;
it was exquisite, sir. Ah, those gentlemen never choose the
worst morsels; like Mere Simon's son, who has not chosen the
worst strawberries. But this year," continued the
horticulturist, "I'll take care it shall not happen, even if
I should be forced to sit by the whole night to watch when
the strawberries are ripe." Monte Cristo had seen enough.
Every man has a devouring passion in his heart, as every
fruit has its worm; that of the telegraph man was
horticulture. He began gathering the grape-leaves which
screened the sun from the grapes, and won the heart of the
gardener. "Did you come here, sir, to see the telegraph?" he
said.

"Yes, if it isn't contrary to the rules."

"Oh, no," said the gardener; "not in the least, since there
is no danger that anyone can possibly understand what we are
saying."

"I have been told," said the count, "that you do not always
yourselves understand the signals you repeat."

"That is true, sir, and that is what I like best," said the
man, smiling.

"Why do you like that best?"

"Because then I have no responsibility. I am a machine then,
and nothing else, and so long as I work, nothing more is
required of me."

"Is it possible," said Monte Cristo to himself, "that I can
have met with a man that has no ambition? That would spoil
my plans."

"Sir," said the gardener, glancing at the sun-dial, "the ten
minutes are almost up; I must return to my post. Will you go
up with me?"

"I follow you." Monte Cristo entered the tower, which was
divided into three stories. The tower contained implements,
such as spades, rakes, watering-pots, hung against the wall;
this was all the furniture. The second was the man's
conventional abode, or rather sleeping-place; it contained a
few poor articles of household furniture -- a bed, a table,
two chairs, a stone pitcher -- and some dry herbs, hung up
to the ceiling, which the count recognized as sweet pease,
and of which the good man was preserving the seeds; he had
labelled them with as much care as if he had been master
botanist in the Jardin des Plantes.

"Does it require much study to learn the art of
telegraphing?" asked Monte Cristo.

"The study does not take long; it was acting as a
supernumerary that was so tedious."

"And what is the pay?"

"A thousand francs, sir."

"It is nothing."

"No; but then we are lodged, as you perceive."

Monte Cristo looked at the room. They passed to the third
story; it was the telegraph room. Monte Cristo looked in
turn at the two iron handles by which the machine was
worked. "It is very interesting," he said, "but it must be
very tedious for a lifetime."

"Yes. At first my neck was cramped with looking at it, but
at the end of a year I became used to it; and then we have
our hours of recreation, and our holidays."

"Holidays?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When we have a fog."

"Ah, to be sure."

"Those are indeed holidays to me; I go into the garden, I
plant, I prune, I trim, I kill the insects all day long."

"How long have you been here?"

"Ten years, and five as a supernumerary make fifteen."

"You are -- "

"Fifty-five years old."

"How long must you have served to claim the pension?"

"Oh, sir, twenty-five years."

"And how much is the pension?"

"A hundred crowns."

"Poor humanity!" murmured Monte Cristo.

"What did you say, sir?" asked the man.

"I was saying it was very interesting."

"What was?"

"All you were showing me. And you really understand none of
these signals?"

"None at all."

"And have you never tried to understand them?"

"Never. Why should I?"

"But still there are some signals only addressed to you."

"Certainly."

"And do you understand them?"

"They are always the same."

"And they mean -- "

"Nothing new; You have an hour; or To-morrow."

"This is simple enough," said the count; "but look, is not
your correspondent putting itself in motion?"

"Ah, yes; thank you, sir."

"And what is it saying -- anything you understand?"

"Yes; it asks if I am ready."

"And you reply?"

"By the same sign, which, at the same time, tells my
right-hand correspondent that I am ready, while it gives
notice to my left-hand correspondent to prepare in his
turn."

"It is very ingenious," said the count.

"You will see," said the man proudly; "in five minutes he
will speak."

"I have, then, five minutes," said Monte Cristo to himself;
"it is more time than I require. My dear sir, will you allow
me to ask you a question?"

"What is it, sir?"

"You are fond of gardening?"

"Passionately."

"And you would be pleased to have, instead of this terrace
of twenty feet, an enclosure of two acres?"

"Sir, I should make a terrestrial paradise of it."

"You live badly on your thousand francs?"

"Badly enough; but yet I do live."

"Yes; but you have a wretchedly small garden."

"True, the garden is not large."

"And, then, such as it is, it is filled with dormice, who
eat everything."

"Ah, they are my scourges."

"Tell me, should you have the misfortune to turn your head
while your right-hand correspondent was telegraphing" --

"I should not see him."

"Then what would happen?"

"I could not repeat the signals."

"And then?"

"Not having repeated them, through negligence, I should be
fined."

"How much?"

"A hundred francs."

"The tenth of your income -- that would be fine work."

"Ah," said the man.

"Has it ever happened to you?" said Monte Cristo.

"Once, sir, when I was grafting a rose-tree."

"Well, suppose you were to alter a signal, and substitute
another?"

"Ah, that is another case; I should be turned off, and lose
my pension."

"Three hundred francs?"

"A hundred crowns, yes, sir; so you see that I am not likely
to do any of these things."

"Not even for fifteen years' wages? Come, it is worth
thinking about?"

"For fifteen thousand francs?"

"Yes."

"Sir, you alarm me."

"Nonsense."

"Sir, you are tempting me?"

"Just so; fifteen thousand francs, do you understand?"

"Sir, let me see my right-hand correspondent."

"On the contrary, do not look at him, but at this."

"What is it?"

"What? Do you not know these bits of paper?"

"Bank-notes!"

"Exactly; there are fifteen of them."

"And whose are they?"

"Yours, if you like."

"Mine?" exclaimed the man, half-suffocated.

"Yes; yours -- your own property."

"Sir, my right-hand correspondent is signalling."

"Let him signal."

"Sir, you have distracted me; I shall be fined."

"That will cost you a hundred francs; you see it is your
interest to take my bank-notes."

"Sir, my right-hand correspondent redoubles his signals; he
is impatient."

"Never mind -- take these;" and the count placed the packet
in the man's hands. "Now this is not all," he said; "you
cannot live upon your fifteen thousand francs."

"I shall still have my place."

"No, you will lose it, for you are going to alter your
correspondent's message."

"Oh, sir, what are you proposing?"

"A jest."

"Sir, unless you force me" --

"I think I can effectually force you;" and Monte Cristo drew
another packet from his pocket. "Here are ten thousand more
francs," he said, "with the fifteen thousand already in your
pocket, they will make twenty-five thousand. With five
thousand you can buy a pretty little house with two acres of
land; the remaining twenty thousand will bring you in a
thousand francs a year."

"A garden with two acres of land!"

"And a thousand francs a year."

"Oh, heavens!"

"Come, take them," and Monte Cristo forced the bank-notes
into his hand.

"What am I to do?"

"Nothing very difficult."

"But what is it?"

"To repeat these signs." Monte Cristo took a paper from his
pocket, upon which were drawn three signs, with numbers to
indicate the order in which they were to be worked.

"There, you see it will not take long."

"Yes; but" --

"Do this, and you will have nectarines and all the rest."
The shot told; red with fever, while the large drops fell
from his brow, the man executed, one after the other, the
three signs given by the count, in spite of the frightful
contortions of the right-hand correspondent, who, not
understanding the change, began to think the gardener had
gone mad. As to the left-hand one, he conscientiously
repeated the same signals, which were finally transmitted to
the Minister of the Interior. "Now you are rich," said Monte
Cristo.

"Yes," replied the man, "but at what a price!"

"Listen, friend," said Monte Cristo. "I do not wish to cause
you any remorse; believe me, then, when I swear to you that
you have wronged no man, but on the contrary have benefited
mankind." The man looked at the bank-notes, felt them,
counted them, turned pale, then red, then rushed into his
room to drink a glass of water, but he had no time to reach
the water-jug, and fainted in the midst of his dried herbs.
Five minutes after the new telegram reached the minister,
Debray had the horses put to his carriage, and drove to
Danglars' house.

"Has your husband any Spanish bonds?" he asked of the
baroness.

"I think so, indeed! He has six millions' worth."

"He must sell them at whatever price."

"Why?"

"Because Don Carlos has fled from Bourges, and has returned
to Spain."

"How do you know?" Debray shrugged his shoulders. "The idea
of asking how I hear the news," he said. The baroness did
not wait for a repetition; she ran to her husband, who
immediately hastened to his agent, and ordered him to sell
at any price. When it was seen that Danglars sold, the
Spanish funds fell directly. Danglars lost five hundred
thousand francs; but he rid himself of all his Spanish
shares. The same evening the following was read in Le
Messager:

"[By telegraph.] The king, Don Carlos, has escaped the
vigilance of his guardians at Bourges, and has returned to
Spain by the Catalonian frontier. Barcelona has risen in his
favor."

All that evening nothing was spoken of but the foresight of
Danglars, who had sold his shares, and of the luck of the
stock-jobber, who only lost five hundred thousand francs by
such a blow. Those who had kept their shares, or bought
those of Danglars, looked upon themselves as ruined, and
passed a very bad night. Next morning Le Moniteur contained
the following:

"It was without any foundation that Le Messager yesterday
announced the flight of Don Carlos and the revolt of
Barcelona. The king (Don Carlos) has not left Bourges, and
the peninsula is in the enjoyment of profound peace. A
telegraphic signal, improperly interpreted, owing to the
fog, was the cause of this error."

The funds rose one per cent higher than before they had
fallen. This, reckoning his loss, and what he had missed
gaining, made the difference of a million to Danglars.
"Good," said Monte Cristo to Morrel, who was at his house
when the news arrived of the strange reverse of fortune of
which Danglars's had been the victim, "I have just made a
discovery for twenty-five thousand francs, for which I would
have paid a hundred thousand."

"What have you discovered?" asked Morrel.

"I have just discovered how a gardener may get rid of the
dormice that eat his peaches."

Chapter 62
Ghosts.

At first sight the exterior of the house at Auteuil gave no
indications of splendor, nothing one would expect from the
destined residence of the magnificent Count of Monte Cristo;
but this simplicity was according to the will of its master,
who positively ordered nothing to be altered outside. The
splendor was within. Indeed, almost before the door opened,
the scene changed. M. Bertuccio had outdone himself in the
taste displayed in furnishing, and in the rapidity with
which it was executed. It is told that the Duc d'Antin
removed in a single night a whole avenue of trees that
annoyed Louis XIV.; in three days M. Bertuccio planted an
entirely bare court with poplars, large spreading sycamores
to shade the different parts of the house, and in the
foreground, instead of the usual paving-stones, half hidden
by the grass, there extended a lawn but that morning laid
down, and upon which the water was yet glistening. For the
rest, the orders had been issued by the count; he himself
had given a plan to Bertuccio, marking the spot where each
tree was to be planted, and the shape and extent of the lawn
which was to take the place of the paving-stones. Thus the
house had become unrecognizable, and Bertuccio himself
declared that he scarcely knew it, encircled as it was by a
framework of trees. The overseer would not have objected,
while he was about it, to have made some improvements in the
garden, but the count had positively forbidden it to be
touched. Bertuccio made amends, however, by loading the
ante-chambers, staircases, and mantle-pieces with flowers.

What, above all, manifested the shrewdness of the steward,
and the profound science of the master, the one in carrying
out the ideas of the other, was that this house which
appeared only the night before so sad and gloomy,
impregnated with that sickly smell one can almost fancy to
be the smell of time, had in a single day acquired the
aspect of life, was scented with its master's favorite
perfumes, and had the very light regulated according to his
wish. When the count arrived, he had under his touch his
books and arms, his eyes rested upon his favorite pictures;
his dogs, whose caresses he loved, welcomed him in the
ante-chamber; the birds, whose songs delighted him, cheered
him with their music; and the house, awakened from it's long
sleep, like the sleeping beauty in the wood, lived, sang,
and bloomed like the houses we have long cherished, and in
which, when we are forced to leave them, we leave a part of
our souls. The servants passed gayly along the fine
court-yard; some, belonging to the kitchens, gliding down
the stairs, restored but the previous day, as if they had
always inhabited the house; others filling the coach-houses,
where the equipages, encased and numbered, appeared to have
been installed for the last fifty years; and in the stables
the horses replied with neighs to the grooms, who spoke to
them with much more respect than many servants pay their
masters.

The library was divided into two parts on either side of the
wall, and contained upwards of two thousand volumes; one
division was entirely devoted to novels, and even the volume
which had been published but the day before was to be seen
in its place in all the dignity of its red and gold binding.
On the other side of the house, to match with the library,
was the conservatory, ornamented with rare flowers, that
bloomed in china jars; and in the midst of the greenhouse,
marvellous alike to sight and smell, was a billiard-table
which looked as if it had been abandoned during the past
hour by players who had left the balls on the cloth. One
chamber alone had been respected by the magnificent
Bertuccio. Before this room, to which you could ascend by
the grand, and go out by the back staircase, the servants
passed with curiosity, and Bertuccio with terror. At five
o'clock precisely, the count arrived before the house at
Auteuil, followed by Ali. Bertuccio was awaiting this
arrival with impatience, mingled with uneasiness; he hoped
for some compliments, while, at the same time, he feared to
have frowns. Monte Cristo descended into the courtyard,
walked all over the house, without giving any sign of
approbation or pleasure, until he entered his bedroom,
situated on the opposite side to the closed room; then he
approached a little piece of furniture, made of rosewood,
which he had noticed at a previous visit. "That can only be
to hold gloves," he said.

"Will your excellency deign to open it?" said the delighted
Bertuccio, "and you will find gloves in it." Elsewhere the
count found everything he required -- smelling-bottles,
cigars, knick-knacks.

"Good," he said; and M. Bertuccio left enraptured, so great,
so powerful, and real was the influence exercised by this
man over all who surrounded him. At precisely six o'clock
the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard at the entrance door;
it was our captain of Spahis, who had arrived on Medeah. "I
am sure I am the first," cried Morrel; "I did it on purpose
to have you a minute to myself, before every one came. Julie
and Emmanuel have a thousand things to tell you. Ah, really
this is magnificent! But tell me, count, will your people
take care of my horse?"

"Do not alarm yourself, my dear Maximilian -- they
understand."

"I mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a
pace he came -- like the wind!"

"I should think so, -- a horse that cost 5,000 francs!" said
Monte Cristo, in the tone which a father would use towards a
son.

"Do you regret them?" asked Morrel, with his open laugh.

"I? Certainly not," replied the count. "No; I should only
regret if the horse had not proved good."

"It is so good, that I have distanced M. de Chateau-Renaud,
one of the best riders in France, and M. Debray, who both
mount the minister's Arabians; and close on their heels are
the horses of Madame Danglars, who always go at six leagues
an hour."

"Then they follow you?" asked Monte Cristo.

"See, they are here." And at the same minute a carriage with
smoking horses, accompanied by two mounted gentlemen,
arrived at the gate, which opened before them. The carriage
drove round, and stopped at the steps, followed by the
horsemen. The instant Debray had touched the ground, he was
at the carriage-door. He offered his hand to the baroness,
who, descending, took it with a peculiarity of manner
imperceptible to every one but Monte Cristo. But nothing
escaped the count's notice, and he observed a little note,
passed with the facility that indicates frequent practice,
from the hand of Madame Danglars to that of the minister's
secretary. After his wife the banker descended, as pale as
though he had issued from his tomb instead of his carriage.
Madame Danglars threw a rapid and inquiring glance which
could only be interpreted by Monte Cristo, around the
court-yard, over the peristyle, and across the front of the
house, then, repressing a slight emotion, which must have
been seen on her countenance if she had not kept her color,
she ascended the steps, saying to Morrel, "Sir, if you were
a friend of mine, I should ask you if you would sell your
horse."

Morrel smiled with an expression very like a grimace, and
then turned round to Monte Cristo, as if to ask him to
extricate him from his embarrassment. The count understood
him. "Ah, madame," he said, "why did you not make that
request of me?"

"With you, sir," replied the baroness, "one can wish for
nothing, one is so sure to obtain it. If it were so with M.
Morrel" --

"Unfortunately," replied the count, "I am witness that M.
Morrel cannot give up his horse, his honor being engaged in
keeping it."

"How so?"

"He laid a wager he would tame Medeah in the space of six
months. You understand now that if he were to get rid of the
animal before the time named, he would not only lose his
bet, but people would say he was afraid; and a brave captain
of Spahis cannot risk this, even to gratify a pretty woman,
which is, in my opinion, one of the most sacred obligations
in the world."

"You see my position, madame," said Morrel, bestowing a
grateful smile on Monte Cristo.

"It seems to me," said Danglars, in his coarse tone,
ill-concealed by a forced smile, "that you have already got
horses enough." Madame Danglars seldom allowed remarks of
this kind to pass unnoticed, but, to the surprise of the
young people, she pretended not to hear it, and said
nothing. Monte Cristo smiled at her unusual humility, and
showed her two immense porcelain jars, over which wound
marine plants, of a size and delicacy that nature alone
could produce. The baroness was astonished. "Why," said she,
"you could plant one of the chestnut-trees in the Tuileries
inside! How can such enormous jars have been manufactured?"

"Ah, madame," replied Monte Cristo, "you must not ask of us,
the manufacturers of fine porcelain, such a question. It is
the work of another age, constructed by the genii of earth
and water."

"How so? -- at what period can that have been?"

"I do not know; I have only heard that an emperor of China
had an oven built expressly, and that in this oven twelve
jars like this were successively baked. Two broke, from the
heat of the fire; the other ten were sunk three hundred
fathoms deep into the sea. The sea, knowing what was
required of her, threw over them her weeds, encircled them
with coral, and encrusted them with shells; the whole was
cemented by two hundred years beneath these almost
impervious depths, for a revolution carried away the emperor
who wished to make the trial, and only left the documents
proving the manufacture of the jars and their descent into
the sea. At the end of two hundred years the documents were
found, and they thought of bringing up the jars. Divers
descended in machines, made expressly on the discovery, into
the bay where they were thrown; but of ten three only
remained, the rest having been broken by the waves. I am
fond of these jars, upon which, perhaps, misshapen,
frightful monsters have fixed their cold, dull eyes, and in
which myriads of small fish have slept, seeking a refuge
from the pursuit of their enemies." Meanwhile, Danglars, who
had cared little for curiosities, was mechanically tearing
off the blossoms of a splendid orange-tree, one after
another. When he had finished with the orange-tree, he began
at the cactus; but this, not being so easily plucked as the
orange-tree, pricked him dreadfully. He shuddered, and
rubbed his eyes as though awaking from a dream.

"Sir," said Monte Cristo to him, "I do not recommend my
pictures to you, who possess such splendid paintings; but,
nevertheless, here are two by Hobbema, a Paul Potter, a
Mieris, two by Gerard Douw, a Raphael, a Vandyke, a
Zurbaran, and two or three by Murillo, worth looking at."

"Stay," said Debray; "I recognize this Hobbema."

"Ah, indeed!"

"Yes; it was proposed for the Museum."

"Which, I believe, does not contain one?" said Monte Cristo.

"No; and yet they refused to buy it."

"Why?" said Chateau-Renaud.

"You pretend not to know, -- because government was not rich
enough."

"Ah, pardon me," said Chateau-Renaud; "I have heard of these
things every day during the last eight years, and I cannot
understand them yet."

"You will, by and by," said Debray.

"I think not," replied Chateau-Renaud.

"Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and Count Andrea Cavalcanti,"
announced Baptistin. A black satin stock, fresh from the
maker's hands, gray moustaches, a bold eye, a major's
uniform, ornamented with three medals and five crosses -- in
fact, the thorough bearing of an old soldier -- such was the
appearance of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, that tender
father with whom we are already acquainted. Close to him,
dressed in entirely new clothes, advanced smilingly Count
Andrea Cavalcanti, the dutiful son, whom we also know. The
three young people were talking together. On the entrance of
the new comers, their eyes glanced from father to son, and
then, naturally enough, rested on the latter, whom they
began criticising. "Cavalcanti!" said Debray. "A fine name,"
said Morrel.

"Yes," said Chateau-Renaud, "these Italians are well named
and badly dressed."

"You are fastidious, Chateau-Renaud," replied Debray; "those
clothes are well cut and quite new."

"That is just what I find fault with. That gentleman appears
to be well dressed for the first time in his life."

"Who are those gentlemen?" asked Danglars of Monte Cristo.

"You heard -- Cavalcanti."

"That tells me their name, and nothing else."

"Ah, true. You do not know the Italian nobility; the
Cavalcanti are all descended from princes."

"Have they any fortune?"

"An enormous one."

"What do they do?"

"Try to spend it all. They have some business with you, I
think, from what they told me the day before yesterday. I,
indeed, invited them here to-day on your account. I will
introduce you to them."

"But they appear to speak French with a very pure accent,"
said Danglars.

"The son has been educated in a college in the south; I
believe near Marseilles. You will find him quite
enthusiastic."

"Upon what subject?" asked Madame Danglars.

"The French ladies, madame. He has made up his mind to take
a wife from Paris."

"A fine idea that of his," said Danglars, shrugging his
shoulders. Madame Danglars looked at her husband with an
expression which, at any other time, would have indicated a
storm, but for the second time she controlled herself. "The
baron appears thoughtful to-day," said Monte Cristo to her;
"are they going to put him in the ministry?"

"Not yet, I think. More likely he has been speculating on
the Bourse, and has lost money."

"M. and Madame de Villefort," cried Baptistin. They entered.
M. de Villefort, notwithstanding his self-control, was
visibly affected, and when Monte Cristo touched his hand, he
felt it tremble. "Certainly, women alone know how to
dissimulate," said Monte Cristo to himself, glancing at
Madame Danglars, who was smiling on the procureur, and
embracing his wife. After a short time, the count saw
Bertuccio, who, until then, had been occupied on the other
side of the house, glide into an adjoining room. He went to
him. "What do you want, M. Bertuccio?" said he.

"Your excellency his not stated the number of guests."

"Ah, true."

"How many covers?"

"Count for yourself."

"Is every one here, your excellency?"

"Yes."

Bertuccio glanced through the door, which was ajar. The
count watched him. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

"What is the matter?" said the count.

"That woman -- that woman!"

"Which?"

"The one with a white dress and so many diamonds -- the fair
one."

"Madame Danglars?"

"I do not know her name; but it is she, sir, it is she!"

"Whom do you mean?"

"The woman of the garden! -- she that was enciente -- she
who was walking while she waited for" -- Bertuccio stood at
the open door, with his eyes starting and his hair on end.

"Waiting for whom?" Bertuccio, without answering, pointed to
Villefort with something of the gesture Macbeth uses to
point out Banquo. "Oh, oh," he at length muttered, "do you
see?"

"What? Who?"

"Him!"

"Him! -- M. de Villefort, the king's attorney? Certainly I
see him."

"Then I did not kill him?"

"Really, I think you are going mad, good Bertuccio," said
the count.

"Then he is not dead?"

"No; you see plainly he is not dead. Instead of striking
between the sixth and seventh left ribs, as your countrymen
do, you must have struck higher or lower, and life is very
tenacious in these lawyers, or rather there is no truth in
anything you have told me -- it was a fright of the
imagination, a dream of your fancy. You went to sleep full
of thoughts of vengeance; they weighed heavily upon your
stomach; you had the nightmare -- that's all. Come, calm
yourself, and reckon them up -- M. and Madame de Villefort,
two; M. and Madame Danglars, four; M. de Chateau-Renaud, M.
Debray, M. Morrel, seven; Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti,
eight."

"Eight!" repeated Bertuccio.

"Stop! You are in a shocking hurry to be off -- you forget
one of my guests. Lean a little to the left. Stay! look at
M. Andrea Cavalcanti, the young man in a black coat, looking
at Murillo's Madonna; now he is turning." This time
Bertuccio would have uttered an exclamation, had not a look
from Monte Cristo silenced him. "Benedetto?" he muttered;
"fatality!"

"Half-past six o'clock has just struck, M. Bertuccio," said
the count severely; "I ordered dinner at that hour, and I do
not like to wait;" and he returned to his guests, while
Bertuccio, leaning against the wall, succeeded in reaching
the dining-room. Five minutes afterwards the doors of the.
drawing-room were thrown open, and Bertuccio appearing said,
with a violent effort, "The dinner waits."

The Count of Monte Cristo offered his arm to Madame de
Villefort. "M. de Villefort," he said, "will you conduct the
Baroness Danglars?"

Villefort complied, and they passed on to the dining-room.

Chapter 63
The Dinner.

It was evident that one sentiment affected all the guests on
entering the dining-room. Each one asked what strange
influence had brought them to this house, and yet
astonished, even uneasy though they were, they still felt
that they would not like to be absent. The recent events,
the solitary and eccentric position of the count, his
enormous, nay, almost incredible fortune, should have made
men cautious, and have altogether prevented ladies visiting
a house where there was no one of their own sex to receive
them; and yet curiosity had been enough to lead them to
overleap the bounds of prudence and decorum. And all
present, even including Cavalcanti and his son,
notwithstanding the stiffness of the one and the
carelessness of the other, were thoughtful, on finding
themselves assembled at the house of this incomprehensible
man. Madame Danglars had started when Villefort, on the
count's invitation, offered his arm; and Villefort felt that
his glance was uneasy beneath his gold spectacles, when he
felt the arm of the baroness press upon his own. None of
this had escaped the count, and even by this mere contact of
individuals the scene had already acquired considerable
interest for an observer. M. de Villefort had on the right
hand Madame Danglars, on his left Morrel. The count was
seated between Madame de Villefort and Danglars; the other
seats were filled by Debray, who was placed between the two
Cavalcanti, and by Chateau-Renaud, seated between Madame de
Villefort and Morrel.

The repast was magnificent; Monte Cristo had endeavored
completely to overturn the Parisian ideas, and to feed the
curiosity as much as the appetite of his guests. It was an
Oriental feast that he offered to them, but of such a kind
as the Arabian fairies might be supposed to prepare. Every
delicious fruit that the four quarters of the globe could
provide was heaped in vases from China and jars from Japan.
Rare birds, retaining their most brilliant plumage, enormous
fish, spread upon massive silver dishes, together with every
wine produced in the Archipelago, Asia Minor, or the Cape,
sparkling in bottles, whose grotesque shape seemed to give
an additional flavor to the draught, -- all these, like one
of the displays with which Apicius of old gratified his
guests, passed in review before the eyes of the astonished
Parisians, who understood that it was possible to expend a
thousand louis upon a dinner for ten persons, but only on
the condition of eating pearls, like Cleopatra, or drinking
refined gold, like Lorenzo de' Medici.

Monte Cristo noticed the general astonishment, and began
laughing and joking about it. "Gentlemen," he said, "you
will admit that, when arrived at a certain degree of
fortune, the superfluities of life are all that can be
desired; and the ladies will allow that, after having risen
to a certain eminence of position, the ideal alone can be
more exalted. Now, to follow out this reasoning, what is the
marvellous? -- that which we do not understand. What is it
that we really desire? -- that which we cannot obtain. Now,
to see things which I cannot understand, to procure
impossibilities, these are the study of my life. I gratify
my wishes by two means -- my will and my money. I take as
much interest in the pursuit of some whim as you do, M.
Danglars, in promoting a new railway line; you, M. de
Villefort, in condemning a culprit to death; you, M. Debray,
in pacifying a kingdom; you, M. de Chateau-Renaud, in
pleasing a woman; and you, Morrel, in breaking a horse that
no one can ride. For example, you see these two fish; one
brought fifty leagues beyond St. Petersburg, the other five
leagues from Naples. Is it not amusing to see them both on
the same table?"

"What are the two fish?" asked Danglars.

"M. Chateau-Renaud, who has lived in Russia, will tell you
the name of one, and Major Cavalcanti, who is an Italian,
will tell you the name of the other."

"This one is, I think, a sterlet," said Chateau-Renaud.

"And that one, if I mistake not, a lamprey."

"Just so. Now, M. Danglars, ask these gentlemen where they
are caught."

"Starlets," said Chateau-Renaud, "are only found in the
Volga."

"And," said Cavalcanti, "I know that Lake Fusaro alone
supplies lampreys of that size."

"Exactly; one comes from the Volga, and the other from Lake
Fusaro."

"Impossible!" cried all the guests simultaneously.

"Well, this is just what amuses me," said Monte Cristo. "I
am like Nero -- cupitor impossibilium; and that is what is
amusing you at this moment. This fish, which seems so
exquisite to you, is very likely no better than perch or
salmon; but it seemed impossible to procure it, and here it
is."

"But how could you have these fish brought to France?"

"Oh, nothing more easy. Each fish was brought over in a cask
-- one filled with river herbs and weeds, the other with
rushes and lake plants; they were placed in a wagon built on
purpose, and thus the sterlet lived twelve days, the lamprey
eight, and both were alive when my cook seized them, killing
one with milk and the other with wine. You do not believe
me, M. Danglars!"

"I cannot help doubting," answered Danglars with his stupid
smile.

"Baptistin," said the count, "have the other fish brought in
-- the sterlet and the lamprey which came in the other
casks, and which are yet alive." Danglars opened his
bewildered eyes; the company clapped their hands. Four
servants carried in two casks covered with aquatic plants,
and in each of which was breathing a fish similar to those
on the table.

"But why have two of each sort?" asked Danglars.

"Merely because one might have died," carelessly answered
Monte Cristo.

"You are certainly an extraordinary man," said Danglars;
"and philosophers may well say it is a fine thing to be
rich."

"And to have ideas," added Madame Danglars.

"Oh, do not give me credit for this, madame; it was done by
the Romans, who much esteemed them, and Pliny relates that
they sent slaves from Ostia to Rome, who carried on their
heads fish which he calls the mulus, and which, from the
description, must probably be the goldfish. It was also
considered a luxury to have them alive, it being an amusing
sight to see them die, for, when dying, they change color
three or four times, and like the rainbow when it
disappears, pass through all the prismatic shades, after
which they were sent to the kitchen. Their agony formed part
of their merit -- if they were not seen alive, they were
despised when dead."

"Yes," said Debray, "but then Ostia is only a few leagues
from Rome."

"True," said Monte Cristo; "but what would be the use of
living eighteen hundred years after Lucullus. if we can do
no better than he could?" The two Cavalcanti opened their
enormous eyes, but had the good sense not to say anything.
"All this is very extraordinary," said Chateau-Renaud;
"still, what I admire the most, I confess, is the marvellous
promptitude with which your orders are executed. Is it not
true that you only bought this house five or six days ago?"

"Certainly not longer."

"Well, I am sure it is quite transformed since last week. If
I remember rightly, it had another entrance, and the
court-yard was paved and empty; while to-day we have a
splendid lawn, bordered by trees which appear to be a
hundred years old."

"Why not? I am fond of grass and shade," said Monte Cristo.

"Yes," said Madame de Villefort, "the door was towards the
road before, and on the day of my miraculous escape you
brought me into the house from the road, I remember."

"Yes, madame," said Monte Cristo; "but I preferred having an
entrance which would allow me to see the Bois de Boulogne
over my gate."

"In four days," said Morrel; "it is extraordinary!"

"Indeed," said Chateau-Renaud, "it seems quite miraculous to
make a new house out of an old one; for it was very old, and
dull too. I recollect coming for my mother to look at it
when M. de Saint-Meran advertised it for sale two or three
years ago."

"M. de Saint-Meran?" said Madame de Villefort; "then this
house belonged to M. de Saint-Meran before you bought it?"

"It appears so," replied Monte Cristo.

"Is it possible that you do not know of whom you purchased
it?"

"Quite so; my steward transacts all this business for me."

"It is certainly ten years since the house had been
occupied," said Chateau-Renaud, "and it was quite melancholy
to look at it, with the blinds closed, the doors locked, and
the weeds in the court. Really, if the house had not
belonged to the father-in-law of the procureur, one might
have thought it some accursed place where a horrible crime
had been committed." Villefort, who had hitherto not tasted
the three or four glasses of rare wine which were placed
before him, here took one, and drank it off. Monte Cristo
allowed a short time to elapse, and then said, "It is
singular, baron, but the same idea came across me the first
time I came here; it looked so gloomy I should never have
bought it if my steward had not taken the matter into his
own hands. Perhaps the fellow had been bribed by the
notary."

"It is probable," stammered out Villefort, trying to smile;
"but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with any such
proceeding. This house is part of Valentine's
marriage-portion, and M. de Saint-Meran wished to sell it;
for if it had remained another year or two uninhabited it
would have fallen to ruin." It was Morrel's turn to become
pale.

"There was, above all, one room," continued Monte Cristo,
"very plain in appearance, hung with red damask, which, I
know not why, appeared to me quite dramatic."

"Why so?" said Danglars; "why dramatic?"

"Can we account for instinct?" said Monte Cristo. "Are there
not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? -- why, we
cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections -- an idea which
carries you back to other times, to other places -- which,
very likely, have no connection with the present time and
place. And there is something in this room which reminds me
forcibly of the chamber of the Marquise de Ganges* or
Desdemona. Stay, since we have finished dinner, I will show
it to you, and then we will take coffee in the garden. After
dinner, the play." Monte Cristo looked inquiringly at his
guests. Madame de Villefort rose, Monte Cristo did the same,
and the rest followed their example. Villefort and Madame
Danglars remained for a moment, as if rooted to their seats;
they questioned each other with vague and stupid glances.
"Did you hear?" said Madame Danglars.

* Elisabeth de Rossan, Marquise de Ganges, was one of the
famous women of the court of Louis XIV. where she was known
as "La Belle Provencale." She was the widow of the Marquise
de Castellane when she married de Ganges, and having the
misfortune to excite the enmity of her new brothers-in-law,
was forced by them to take poison; and they finished her off
with pistol and dagger. -- Ed.

"We must go," replied Villefort, offering his arm. The
others, attracted by curiosity, were already scattered in
different parts of the house; for they thought the visit
would not be limited to the one room, and that, at the same
time, they would obtain a view of the rest of the building,
of which Monte Cristo had created a palace. Each one went
out by the open doors. Monte Cristo waited for the two who
remained; then, when they had passed, he brought up the
rear, and on his face was a smile, which, if they could have
understood it, would have alarmed them much more than a
visit to the room they were about to enter. They began by
walking through the apartments, many of which were fitted up
in the Eastern style, with cushions and divans instead of
beds, and pipes instead of furniture. The drawing-rooms were
decorated with the rarest pictures by the old masters, the
boudoirs hung with draperies from China, of fanciful colors,
fantastic design, and wonderful texture. At length they
arrived at the famous room. There was nothing particular
about it, excepting that, although daylight had disappeared,
it was not lighted, and everything in it was old-fashioned,
while the rest of the rooms had been redecorated. These two
causes were enough to give it a gloomy aspect. "Oh." cried
Madame de Villefort, "it is really frightful." Madame
Danglars tried to utter a few words, but was not heard. Many
observations were made, the import of which was a unanimous
opinion that there was something sinister about the room.
"Is it not so?" asked Monte Cristo. "Look at that large
clumsy bed, hung with such gloomy, blood-colored drapery!
And those two crayon portraits, that have faded from the
dampness; do they not seem to say, with their pale lips and
staring eyes, `We have seen'?" Villefort became livid;
Madame Danglars fell into a long seat placed near the
chimney. "Oh," said Madame de Villefort, smiling, "are you
courageous enough to sit down upon the very seat perhaps
upon which the crime was committed?" Madame Danglars rose
suddenly.

"And then," said Monte Cristo, "this is not all."

"What is there more?" said Debray, who had not failed to
notice the agitation of Madame Danglars.

"Ah, what else is there?" said Danglars; "for, at present, I
cannot say that I have seen anything extraordinary. What do
you say, M. Cavalcanti?"

"Ah," said he, "we have at Pisa, Ugolino's tower; at
Ferrara, Tasso's prison; at Rimini, the room of Francesca
and Paolo."

"Yes, but you have not this little staircase," said Monte
Cristo, opening a door concealed by the drapery. "Look at
it, and tell me what you think of it."

"What a wicked-looking, crooked staircase," said
Chateau-Renaud with a smile.

"I do not know whether the wine of Chios produces
melancholy, but certainly everything appears to me black in
this house," said Debray.

Ever since Valentine's dowry had been mentioned, Morrel had
been silent and sad. "Can you imagine," said Monte Cristo,
"some Othello or Abbe de Ganges, one stormy, dark night,
descending these stairs step by step, carrying a load, which
he wishes to hide from the sight of man, if not from God?"
Madame Danglars half fainted on the arm of Villefort, who
was obliged to support himself against the wall. "Ah,
madame," cried Debray, "what is the matter with you? how
pale you look!"

"It is very evident what is the matter with her," said
Madame de Villefort; "M. de Monte Cristo is relating
horrible stories to us, doubtless intending to frighten us
to death."

"Yes," said Villefort, "really, count, you frighten the
ladies."

"What is the matter?" asked Debray, in a whisper, of Madame
Danglars.

"Nothing," she replied with a violent effort. "I want air,
that is all."

"Will you come into the garden?" said Debray, advancing
towards the back staircase.

"No, no," she answered, "I would rather remain here."

"Are you really frightened, madame?" said Monte Cristo.

"Oh, no, sir," said Madame Danglars; "but you suppose scenes
in a manner which gives them the appearance of reality "

"Ah, yes," said Monte Cristo smiling; "it is all a matter of
imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of
an honest mother? And this bed with red hangings, a bed
visited by the goddess Lucina? And that mysterious
staircase, the passage through which, not to disturb their
sleep, the doctor and nurse pass, or even the father
carrying the sleeping child?" Here Madame Danglars, instead
of being calmed by the soft picture, uttered a groan and
fainted. "Madame Danglars is ill," said Villefort; "it would
be better to take her to her carriage."

"Oh, mon Dieu," said Monte Cristo, "and I have forgotten my
smelling-bottle!"

"I have mine," said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over
to Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid
whose good properties the count had tested on Edward.

"Ah," said Monte Cristo, taking it from her hand.

"Yes," she said, "at your advice I have made the trial."

"And have you succeeded?"

"I think so."

Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte
Cristo dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon
her lips; she returned to consciousness. "Ah," she cried,
"what a frightful dream!"

Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a
dream. They looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not
especially interested in poetical ideas, he had gone into
the garden, and was talking with Major Cavalcanti on the
projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte Cristo
seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglars, and
conducted her into the garden, where they found Danglars
taking coffee between the Cavalcanti. "Really, madame," he
said, "did I alarm you much?"

"Oh, no, sir," she answered; "but you know, things impress
us differently, according to the mood of our minds."
Villefort forced a laugh. "And then, you know," he said, "an
idea, a supposition, is sufficient."

"Well," said Monte Cristo, "you may believe me if you like,
but it is my opinion that a crime has been committed in this
house."

"Take care," said Madame de Villefort, "the king's attorney
is here."

"Ah," replied Monte Cristo, "since that is the case, I will
take advantage of his presence to make my declaration."

"Your declaration?" said Villefort.

"Yes, before witnesses."

"Oh, this is very interesting," said Debray; "if there
really has been a crime, we will investigate it."

"There has been a crime," said Monte Cristo. "Come this way,
gentlemen; come, M. Villefort, for a declaration to be
available, should be made before the competent authorities."
He then took Villefort's arm, and, at the same time, holding
that of Madame Danglars under his own, he dragged the
procureur to the plantain-tree, where the shade was
thickest. All the other guests followed. "Stay," said Monte
Cristo, "here, in this very spot" (and he stamped upon the
ground), "I had the earth dug up and fresh mould put in, to
refresh these old trees; well, my man, digging, found a box,
or rather, the iron-work of a box, in the midst of which was
the skeleton of a newly born infant." Monte Cristo felt the
arm of Madame Danglars stiffen, while that of Villefort
trembled. "A newly born infant," repeated Debray; "this
affair becomes serious!"

"Well," said Chateau-Renaud, "I was not wrong just now then,
when I said that houses had souls and faces like men, and
that their exteriors carried the impress of their
characters. This house was gloomy because it was remorseful:
it was remorseful because it concealed a crime."

"Who said it was a crime?" asked Villefort, with a last
effort.

"How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?"
cried Monte Cristo. "And pray what do you call such an
action?"

"But who said it was buried alive?"

"Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never
been a cemetery."

"What is done to infanticides in this country?" asked Major
Cavalcanti innocently.

"Oh, their heads are soon cut off," said Danglars.

"Ah, indeed?" said Cavalcanti.

"I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?" asked Monte
Cristo.

"Yes, count," replied Villefort, in a voice now scarcely
human.

Monte Cristo, seeing that the two persons for whom he had
prepared this scene could scarcely endure it, and not
wishing to carry it too far, said, "Come, gentlemen, -- some
coffee, we seem to have forgotten it," and he conducted the
guests back to the table on the lawn.

"Indeed, count," said Madame Danglars, "I am ashamed to own
it, but all your frightful stories have so upset me, that I
must beg you to let me sit down;" and she fell into a chair.
Monte Cristo bowed, and went to Madame de Villefort. "I
think Madame Danglars again requires your bottle," he said.
But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend the
procureur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, "I
must speak to you."

"When?"

"To-morrow."

"Where?"

"In my office, or in the court, if you like, -- that is the
surest place."

"I will be there." -- At this moment Madame de Villefort
approached. "Thanks, my dear friend," said Madame Danglars,
trying to smile; "it is over now, and I am much better."

Chapter 64
The Beggar.

The evening passed on; Madame de Villefort expressed a
desire to return to Paris, which Madame Danglars had not
dared to do, notwithstanding the uneasiness she experienced.
On his wife's request, M. de Villefort was the first to give
the signal of departure. He offered a seat in his landau to
Madame Danglars, that she might be under the care of his
wife. As for M. Danglars, absorbed in an interesting
conversation with M. Cavalcanti, he paid no attention to
anything that was passing. While Monte Cristo had begged the
smelling-bottle of Madame de Villefort, he had noticed the
approach of Villefort to Madame Danglars, and he soon
guessed all that had passed between them, though the words
had been uttered in so low a voice as hardly to be heard by
Madame Danglars. Without opposing their arrangements, he
allowed Morrel, Chateau-Renaud, and Debray to leave on
horseback, and the ladies in M. de Villefort's carriage.
Danglars, more and more delighted with Major Cavalcanti, had
offered him a seat in his carriage. Andrea Cavalcanti found
his tilbury waiting at the door; the groom, in every respect
a caricature of the English fashion, was standing on tiptoe
to hold a large iron-gray horse.

Andrea had spoken very little during dinner; he was an
intelligent lad, and he feared to utter some absurdity
before so many grand people, amongst whom, with dilating
eyes, he saw the king's attorney. Then he had been seized
upon by Danglars, who, with a rapid glance at the
stiff-necked old major and his modest son, and taking into
consideration the hospitality of the count, made up his mind
that he was in the society of some nabob come to Paris to
finish the worldly education of his heir. He contemplated
with unspeakable delight the large diamond which shone on
the major's little finger; for the major, like a prudent
man, in case of any accident happening to his bank-notes,
had immediately converted them into an available asset.
Then, after dinner, on the pretext of business, he
questioned the father and son upon their mode of living; and
the father and son, previously informed that it was through
Danglars the one was to receive his 48,000 francs and the
other 50,000 livres annually, were so full of affability
that they would have shaken hands even with the banker's
servants, so much did their gratitude need an object to
expend itself upon. One thing above all the rest heightened
the respect, nay almost the veneration, of Danglars for
Cavalcanti. The latter, faithful to the principle of Horace,
nil admirari, had contented himself with showing his
knowledge by declaring in what lake the best lampreys were
caught. Then he had eaten some without saying a word more;
Danglars, therefore, concluded that such luxuries were
common at the table of the illustrious descendant of the
Cavalcanti, who most likely in Lucca fed upon trout brought
from Switzerland, and lobsters sent from England, by the
same means used by the count to bring the lampreys from Lake
Fusaro, and the sterlet from the Volga. Thus it was with
much politeness of manner that he heard Cavalcanti pronounce
these words, "To-morrow, sir, I shall have the honor of
waiting upon you on business."

"And I, sir," said Danglars, "shall be most happy to receive
you." Upon which he offered to take Cavalcanti in his
carriage to the Hotel des Princes, if it would not be
depriving him of the company of his son. To this Cavalcanti
replied by saying that for some time past his son had lived
independently of him, that he had his own horses and
carriages, and that not having come together, it would not
be difficult for them to leave separately. The major seated
himself, therefore, by the side of Danglars, who was more
and more charmed with the ideas of order and economy which
ruled this man, and yet who, being able to allow his son
60,000 francs a year, might be supposed to possess a fortune
of 500,000 or 600,000 livres.

As for Andrea, he began, by way of showing off, to scold his
groom, who, instead of bringing the tilbury to the steps of
the house, had taken it to the outer door, thus giving him
the trouble of walking thirty steps to reach it. The groom
heard him with humility, took the bit of the impatient
animal with his left hand, and with the right held out the
reins to Andrea, who, taking them from him, rested his
polished boot lightly on the step. At that moment a hand
touched his shoulder. The young man turned round, thinking
that Danglars or Monte Cristo had forgotten something they
wished to tell him, and had returned just as they were
starting. But instead of either of these, he saw nothing but
a strange face, sunburnt, and encircled by a beard, with
eyes brilliant as carbuncles, and a smile upon the mouth
which displayed a perfect set of white teeth, pointed and
sharp as the wolf's or jackal's. A red handkerchief
encircled his gray head; torn and filthy garments covered
his large bony limbs, which seemed as though, like those of
a skeleton, they would rattle as he walked; and the hand
with which he leaned upon the young man's shoulder, and
which was the first thing Andrea saw, seemed of gigantic
size. Did the young man recognize that face by the light of
the lantern in his tilbury, or was he merely struck with the
horrible appearance of his interrogator? We cannot say; but
only relate the fact that he shuddered and stepped back
suddenly. "What do you want of me?" he asked.

"Pardon me, my friend, if I disturb you," said the man with
the red handkerchief, "but I want to speak to you."

"You have no right to beg at night," said the groom,
endeavoring to rid his master of the troublesome intruder.

"I am not begging, my fine fellow," said the unknown to the
servant, with so ironical an expression of the eye, and so
frightful a smile, that he withdrew; "I only wish to say two
or three words to your master, who gave me a commission to
execute about a fortnight ago."

"Come," said Andrea, with sufficient nerve for his servant
not to perceive his agitation, "what do you want? Speak
quickly, friend."

The man said, in a low voice: "I wish -- I wish you to spare
me the walk back to Paris. I am very tired, and as I have
not eaten so good a dinner as you, I can scarcely stand."
The young man shuddered at this strange familiarity. "Tell
me," he said -- "tell me what you want?"

"Well, then, I want you to take me up in your fine carriage,
and carry me back." Andrea turned pale, but said nothing.

"Yes," said the man, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
and looking impudently at the youth; "I have taken the whim
into my head; do you understand, Master Benedetto?"

At this name, no doubt, the young man reflected a little,
for he went towards his groom, saying, "This man is right; I
did indeed charge him with a commission, the result of which
he must tell me; walk to the barrier, there take a cab, that
you may not be too late." The surprised groom retired. "Let
me at least reach a shady spot," said Andrea.

"Oh, as for that, I'll take you to a splendid place," said
the man with the handkerchief; and taking the horse's bit he
led the tilbury where it was certainly impossible for any
one to witness the honor that Andrea conferred upon him.

"Don't think I want the glory of riding in your fine
carriage," said he; "oh, no, it's only because I am tired,
and also because I have a little business to talk over with
you."

"Come, step in," said the young man. It was a pity this
scene had not occurred in daylight, for it was curious to
see this rascal throwing himself heavily down on the cushion
beside the young and elegant driver of the tilbury. Andrea
drove past the last house in the village without saying a
word to his companion, who smiled complacently, as though
well-pleased to find himself travelling in so comfortable a
vehicle. Once out of Auteuil, Andrea looked around, in order
to assure himself that he could neither be seen nor heard,
and then, stopping the horse and crossing his arms before
the man, he asked, -- "Now, tell me why you come to disturb
my tranquillity?"

"Let me ask you why you deceived me?"

"How have I deceived you?"

"`How,' do you ask? When we parted at the Pont du Var, you
told me you were going to travel through Piedmont and
Tuscany; but instead of that, you come to Paris."

"How does that annoy you?"

"It does not; on the contrary, I think it will answer my
purpose."

"So," said Andrea, "you are speculating upon me?"

"What fine words he uses!"

"I warn you, Master Caderousse, that you are mistaken."

"Well, well, don't be angry, my boy; you know well enough
what it is to be unfortunate; and misfortunes make us
jealous. I thought you were earning a living in Tuscany or
Piedmont by acting as facchino or cicerone, and I pitied you
sincerely, as I would a child of my own. You know I always
did call you my child."

"Come, come, what then?"

"Patience -- patience!"

"I am patient, but go on."

"All at once I see you pass through the barrier with a
groom, a tilbury, and fine new clothes. You must have
discovered a mine, or else become a stockbroker."

"So that, as you confess, you are jealous?"

"No, I am pleased -- so pleased that I wished to
congratulate you; but as I am not quite properly dressed, I
chose my opportunity, that I might not compromise you."

"Yes, and a fine opportunity you have chosen!" exclaimed
Andrea; "you speak to me before my servant."

"How can I help that, my boy? I speak to you when I can
catch you. You have a quick horse, a light tilbury, you are
naturally as slippery as an eel; if I had missed you
to-night, I might not have had another chance."

"You see, I do not conceal myself."

"You are lucky; I wish I could say as much, for I do conceal
myself; and then I was afraid you would not recognize me,
but you did," added Caderousse with his unpleasant smile.
"It was very polite of you."

"Come," said Andrea, "what do want?"

"You do not speak affectionately to me, Benedetto, my old
friend, that is not right -- take care, or I may become
troublesome." This menace smothered the young man's passion.
He urged the horse again into a trot. "You should not speak
so to an old friend like me, Caderousse, as you said just
now; you are a native of Marseilles, I am" --

"Do you know then now what you are?"

"No, but I was brought up in Corsica; you are old and
obstinate, I am young and wilful. Between people like us
threats are out of place, everything should be amicably
arranged. Is it my fault if fortune, which has frowned on
you, has been kind to me?"

"Fortune has been kind to you, then? Your tilbury, your
groom, your clothes, are not then hired? Good, so much the
better," said Caderousse, his eyes sparkling with avarice.

"Oh, you knew that well enough before speaking to me," said
Andrea, becoming more and more excited. "If I had been
wearing a handkerchief like yours on my head, rags on my
back, and worn-out shoes on my feet, you would not have
known me."

"You wrong me, my boy; now I have found you, nothing
prevents my being as well-dressed as any one, knowing, as I
do, the goodness of your heart. If you have two coats you
will give me one of them. I used to divide my soup and beans
with you when you were hungry."

"True," said Andrea.

"What an appetite you used to have! Is it as good now?"

"Oh, yes," replied Andrea, laughing.

"How did you come to be dining with that prince whose house
you have just left?"

"He is not a prince; simply a count."

"A count, and a rich one too, eh?"

"Yes; but you had better not have anything to say to him,
for he is not a very good-tempered gentleman."

"Oh, be easy! I have no design upon your count, and you
shall have him all to yourself. But," said Caderousse, again
smiling with the disagreeable expression he had before
assumed, "you must pay for it -- you understand?"

"Well, what do you want?"

"I think that with a hundred francs a month" --

"Well?"

"I could live" --

"Upon a hundred francs!"

"Come -- you understand me; but that with" --

"With?"

"With a hundred and fifty francs I should be quite happy."

"Here are two hundred," said Andrea; and he placed ten gold
louis in the hand of Caderousse.

"Good!" said Caderousse.

"Apply to the steward on the first day of every mouth, and
you will receive the same sum."

"There now, again you degrade me."

"How so?"

"By making me apply to the servants, when I want to transact
business with you alone."

"Well, be it so, then. Take it from me then, and so long at
least as I receive my income, you shall be paid yours."

"Come, come; I always said you were a line fellow, and it is
a blessing when good fortune happens to such as you. But
tell me all about it?"

"Why do you wish to know?" asked Cavalcanti.

"What? do you again defy me?"

"No; the fact is, I have found my father."

"What? a real father?"

"Yes, so long as he pays me" --

"You'll honor and believe him -- that's right. What is his
name?"

"Major Cavalcanti."

"Is he pleased with you?"

"So far I have appeared to answer his purpose."

"And who found this father for you?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo."

"The man whose house you have just left?"

"Yes."

"I wish you would try and find me a situation with him as
grandfather, since he holds the money-chest!"

"Well, I will mention you to him. Meanwhile, what are you
going to do?"

"I?"

"Yes, you."

"It is very kind of you to trouble yourself about me."

"Since you interest yourself in my affairs, I think it is
now my turn to ask you some questions."

"Ah, true. Well; I shall rent a room in some respectable
house, wear a decent coat, shave every day, and go and read
the papers in a cafe. Then, in the evening, I shall go to
the theatre; I shall look like some retired baker. That is
what I want."

"Come, if you will only put this scheme into execution, and
be steady, nothing could be better."

"Do you think so, M. Bossuet? And you -- what will you
become? A peer of France?"

"Ah," said Andrea, "who knows?"

"Major Cavalcanti is already one, perhaps; but then,
hereditary rank is abolished."

"No politics, Caderousse. And now that you have all you
want, and that we understand each other, jump down from the
tilbury and disappear."

"Not at all, my good friend."

"How? Not at all?"

"Why, just think for a moment; with this red handkerchief on
my head, with scarcely any shoes, no papers, and ten gold
napoleons in my pocket, without reckoning what was there
before -- making in all about two hundred francs, -- why, I
should certainly be arrested at the barriers. Then, to
justify myself, I should say that you gave me the money;
this would cause inquiries, it would be found that I left
Toulon without giving due notice, and I should then be
escorted back to the shores of the Mediterranean. Then I
should become simply No. 106, and good-by to my dream of
resembling the retired baker! No, no, my boy; I prefer
remaining honorably in the capital." Andrea scowled.
Certainly, as he had himself owned, the reputed son of Major
Cavalcanti was a wilful fellow. He drew up for a minute,
threw a rapid glance around him, and then his hand fell
instantly into his pocket, where it began playing with a
pistol. But, meanwhile, Caderousse, who had never taken his
eyes off his companion, passed his hand behind his back, and
opened a long Spanish knife, which he always carried with
him, to be ready in case of need. The two friends, as we
see, were worthy of and understood one another. Andrea's
hand left his pocket inoffensively, and was carried up to
the red mustache, which it played with for some time. "Good
Caderousse," he said, "how happy you will be."

"I will do my best," said the inn-keeper of the Pont du
Gard, shutting up his knife.

"Well, then, we will go into Paris. But how will you pass
through the barrier without exciting suspicion? It seems to
me that you are in more danger riding than on foot."

"Wait," said Caderousse, "we shall see." He then took the
great-coat with the large collar, which the groom had left
behind in the tilbury, and put it on his back; then he took
off Cavalcanti's hat, which he placed upon his own head, and
finally he assumed the careless attitude of a servant whose
master drives himself.

"But, tell me," said Andrea, "am I to remain bareheaded?"

"Pooh," said Caderousse; "it is so windy that your hat can
easily appear to have blown off."

"Come, come; enough of this," said Cavalcanti.

"What are you waiting for?" said Caderousse. "I hope I am
not the cause."

"Hush," said Andrea. They passed the barrier without
accident. At the first cross street Andrea stopped his
horse, and Caderousse leaped out.

"Well!" said Andrea, -- "my servant's coat and my hat?"

"Ah," said Caderousse, "you would not like me to risk taking
cold?"

"But what am I to do?"

"You? Oh, you are young while I am beginning to get old. Au
revoir, Benedetto;" and running into a court, he
disappeared. "Alas," said Andrea, sighing, "one cannot be
completely happy in this world!"

Chapter 65
A Conjugal Scene.

At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated --
that is to say, Morrel went to the Boulevards,
Chateau-Renaud to the Pont de la Revolution, and Debray to
the Quai. Most probably Morrel and Chateau-Renaud returned
to their "domestic hearths," as they say in the gallery of
the Chamber in well-turned speeches, and in the theatre of
the Rue Richelieu in well-written pieces; but it was not the
case with Debray. When he reached the wicket of the Louvre,
he turned to the left, galloped across the Carrousel, passed
through the Rue Saint-Roch, and, issuing from the Rue de la
Michodiere, he arrived at M. Danglars' door just at the same
time that Villefort's landau, after having deposited him and
his wife at the Faubourg St. Honore, stopped to leave the
baroness at her own house. Debray, with the air of a man
familiar with the house, entered first into the court, threw
his bridle into the hands of a footman, and returned to the
door to receive Madame Danglars, to whom he offered his arm,
to conduct her to her apartments. The gate once closed, and
Debray and the baroness alone in the court, he asked, --
"What was the matter with you, Hermine? and why were you so
affected at that story, or rather fable, which the count
related?"

"Because I have been in such shocking spirits all the
evening, my friend," said the baroness.

"No, Hermine," replied Debray; "you cannot make me believe
that; on the contrary, you were in excellent spirits when
you arrived at the count's. M. Danglars was disagreeable,
certainly, but I know how much you care for his ill-humor.
Some one has vexed you; I will allow no one to annoy you."

"You are deceived, Lucien, I assure you," replied Madame
Danglars; "and what I have told you is really the case,
added to the ill-humor you remarked, but which I did not
think it worth while to allude to." It was evident that
Madame Danglars was suffering from that nervous irritability
which women frequently cannot account for even to
themselves; or that, as Debray had guessed, she had
experienced some secret agitation that she would not
acknowledge to any one. Being a man who knew that the former
of these symptoms was one of the inherent penalties of
womanhood, he did not then press his inquiries, but waited
for a more appropriate opportunity when he should again
interrogate her, or receive an avowal proprio motu. At the
door of her apartment the baroness met Mademoiselle
Cornelie, her confidential maid. "What is my daughter
doing?" asked Madame Danglars.

"She practiced all the evening, and then went to bed,"
replied Mademoiselle Cornelie.

"Yet I think I hear her piano."

"It is Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who is playing while
Mademoiselle Danglars is in bed."

"Well," said Madame Danglars, "come and undress me." They
entered the bedroom. Debray stretched himself upon a large
couch, and Madame Danglars passed into her dressing-room
with Mademoiselle Cornelie. "My dear M. Lucien," said Madame
Danglars through the door, "you are always complaining that
Eugenie will not address a word to you."

"Madame," said Lucien, playing with a little dog, who,
recognizing him as a friend of the house, expected to be
caressed, "I am not the only one who makes similar
complaints, I think I heard Morcerf say that he could not
extract a word from his betrothed."

"True," said Madame Danglars; "yet I think this will all
pass off, and that you will one day see her enter your
study."

"My study?"

"At least that of the minister."

"Why so!"

"To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw
such an infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a
young lady of fashion." Debray smiled. "Well," said he, "let
her come, with your consent and that of the baron, and we
will try and give her an engagement, though we are very poor
to pay such talent as hers."

"Go, Cornelie," said Madame Danglars, "I do not require you
any longer."

Cornelie obeyed, and the next minute Madame Danglars left
her room in a charming loose dress, and came and sat down
close to Debray. Then she began thoughtfully to caress the
little spaniel. Lucien looked at her for a moment in
silence. "Come, Hermine," he said, after a short time,
"answer candidly, -- something vexes you -- is it not so?"

"Nothing," answered the baroness.

And yet, as she could scarcely breathe, she rose and went
towards a looking-glass. "I am frightful to-night," she
said. Debray rose, smiling, and was about to contradict the
baroness upon this latter point, when the door opened
suddenly. M. Danglars appeared; Debray reseated himself. At
the noise of the door Madame Danglars turned round, and
looked upon her husband with an astonishment she took no
trouble to conceal. "Good-evening, madame," said the banker;
"good-evening, M. Debray."

Probably the baroness thought this unexpected visit
signified a desire to make up for the sharp words he had
uttered during the day. Assuming a dignified air, she turned
round to Debray, without answering her husband. "Read me
something, M. Debray," she said. Debray, who was slightly
disturbed at this visit, recovered himself when he saw the
calmness of the baroness, and took up a book marked by a
mother-of-pearl knife inlaid with gold. "Excuse me," said
the banker, "but you will tire yourself, baroness, by such
late hours, and M. Debray lives some distance from here."

Debray was petrified, not only to hear Danglars speak so
calmly and politely, but because it was apparent that
beneath outward politeness there really lurked a determined
spirit of opposition to anything his wife might wish to do.
The baroness was also surprised, and showed her astonishment
by a look which would doubtless have had some effect upon
her husband if he had not been intently occupied with the
paper, where he was looking to see the closing stock
quotations. The result was, that the proud look entirely
failed of its purpose.

"M. Lucien," said the baroness, "I assure you I have no
desire to sleep, and that I have a thousand things to tell
you this evening, which you must listen to, even though you
slept while hearing me."

"I am at your service, madame," replied Lucien coldly.

"My dear M. Debray," said the banker, "do not kill yourself
to-night listening to the follies of Madame Danglars, for
you can hear them as well to-morrow; but I claim to-night
and will devote it, if you will allow me, to talk over some
serious matters with my wife." This time the blow was so
well aimed, and hit so directly, that Lucien and the
baroness were staggered, and they interrogated each other
with their eyes, as if to seek help against this aggression,
but the irresistible will of the master of the house
prevailed, and the husband was victorious.

"Do not think I wish to turn you out, my dear Debray,"
continued Danglars; "oh, no, not at all. An unexpected
occurrence forces me to ask my wife to have a little
conversation with me; it is so rarely I make such a request,
I am sure you cannot grudge it to me." Debray muttered
something, bowed and went out, knocking himself against the
edge of the door, like Nathan in "Athalie."

"It is extraordinary," he said, when the door was closed
behind him, "how easily these husbands, whom we ridicule,
gain an advantage over us."

Lucien having left, Danglars took his place on the sofa,
closed the open book, and placing himself in a dreadfully
dictatorial attitude, he began playing with the dog; but the
animal, not liking him as well as Debray, and attempting to
bite him, Danglars seized him by the skin of his neck and
threw him upon a couch on the other side of the room. The
animal uttered a cry during the transit, but, arrived at its
destination, it crouched behind the cushions, and stupefied
at such unusual treatment remained silent and motionless.
"Do you know, sir," asked the baroness, "that you are
improving? Generally you are only rude, but to-night you are
brutal."

"It is because I am in a worse humor than usual," replied
Danglars. Hermine looked at the banker with supreme disdain.
These glances frequently exasperated the pride of Danglars,
but this evening he took no notice of them.

"And what have I to do with your ill-humor?" said the
baroness, irritated at the impassibility of her husband; "do
these things concern me? Keep your ill-humor at home in your
money boxes, or, since you have clerks whom you pay, vent it
upon them."

"Not so," replied Danglars; "your advice is wrong, so I
shall not follow it. My money boxes are my Pactolus, as, I
think, M. Demoustier says, and I will not retard its course,
or disturb its calm. My clerks are honest men, who earn my
fortune, whom I pay much below their deserts, if I may value
them according to what they bring in; therefore I shall not
get into a passion with them; those with whom I will be in a
passion are those who eat my dinners, mount my horses, and
exhaust my fortune."

"And pray who are the persons who exhaust your fortune?
Explain yourself more clearly, I beg, sir."

"Oh, make yourself easy! -- I am not speaking riddles, and
you will soon know what I mean. The people who exhaust my
fortune are those who draw out 700,000 francs in the course
of an hour."

"I do not understand you, sir," said the baroness, trying to
disguise the agitation of her voice and the flush of her
face. "You understand me perfectly, on the contrary," said
Danglars: "but, if you will persist, I will tell you that I
have just lost 700,000 francs upon the Spanish loan."

"And pray," asked the baroness, "am I responsible for this
loss?"

"Why not?"

"Is it my fault you have lost 700,000 francs?"

"Certainly it is not mine."

"Once for all, sir," replied the baroness sharply, "I tell
you I will not hear cash named; it is a style of language I
never heard in the house of my parents or in that of my
first husband."

"Oh, I can well believe that, for neither of them was worth
a penny."

"The better reason for my not being conversant with the
slang of the bank, which is here dinning in my ears from
morning to night; that noise of jingling crowns, which are
constantly being counted and re-counted, is odious to me. I
only know one thing I dislike more, which is the sound of
your voice."

"Really?" said Danglars. "Well, this surprises me, for I
thought you took the liveliest interest in all my affairs!"

"I? What could put such an idea into your head?"

"Yourself."

"Ah? -- what next?"

"Most assuredly."

"I should like to know upon what occasion?"

"Oh, mon Dieu, that is very easily done. Last February you
were the first who told me of the Haitian funds. You had
dreamed that a ship had entered the harbor at Havre, that
this ship brought news that a payment we had looked upon as
lost was going to be made. I know how clear-sighted your
dreams are; I therefore purchased immediately as many shares
as I could of the Haitian debt, and I gained 400,000 francs
by it, of which 100,000 have been honestly paid to you. You
spent it as you pleased; that was your business. In March
there was a question about a grant to a railway. Three
companies presented themselves, each offering equal
securities. You told me that your instinct, -- and although
you pretend to know nothing about speculations, I think on
the contrary, that your comprehension is very clear upon
certain affairs, -- well, you told me that your instinct led
you to believe the grant would be given to the company
called the Southern. I bought two thirds of the shares of
that company; as you had foreseen, the shares trebled in
value, and I picked up a million, from which 250,000 francs
were paid to you for pin-money. How have you spent this
250,000 francs? -- it is no business of mine."

"When are you coming to the point?" cried the baroness,
shivering with anger and impatience.

"Patience, madame, I am coming to it."

"That's fortunate."

"In April you went to dine at the minister's. You heard a
private conversation respecting Spanish affairs -- on the
expulsion of Don Carlos. I bought some Spanish shares. The
expulsion took place and I pocketed 600,000 francs the day
Charles V. repassed the Bidassoa. Of these 600,000 francs
you took 50,000 crowns. They were yours, you disposed of
them according to your fancy, and I asked no questions; but
it is not the less true that you have this year received
500,000 livres."

"Well, sir, and what then?"

"Ah, yes, it was just after this that you spoiled
everything."

"Really, your manner of speaking" --

"It expresses my meaning, and that is all I want. Well,
three days after that you talked politics with M. Debray,
and you fancied from his words that Don Carlos had returned
to Spain. Well, I sold my shares, the news got out, and I no
longer sold -- I gave them away, next day I find the news
was false, and by this false report I have lost 700,000
francs."

"Well?"

"Well, since I gave you a fourth of my gains, I think you
owe me a fourth of my losses; the fourth of 700,000 francs
is 175,000 francs."

"What you say is absurd, and I cannot see why M. Debray's
name is mixed up in this affair."

"Because if you do not possess the 175,000 francs I reclaim,
you must have lent them to your friends, and M. Debray is
one of your friends."

"For shame!" exclaimed the baroness.

"Oh, let us have no gestures, no screams, no modern drama,
or you will oblige me to tell you that I see Debray leave
here, pocketing the whole of the 500,000 livres you have
handed over to him this year, while he smiles to himself,
saying that he has found what the most skilful players have
never discovered -- that is, a roulette where he wins
without playing, and is no loser when he loses." The
baroness became enraged. "Wretch!" she cried, "will you dare
to tell me you did not know what you now reproach me with?"

"I do not say that I did know it, and I do not say that I
did not know it. I merely tell you to look into my conduct
during the last four years that we have ceased to be husband
and wife, and see whether it has not always been consistent.
Some time after our rupture, you wished to study music,
under the celebrated baritone who made such a successful
appearance at the Theatre Italien; at the same time I felt
inclined to learn dancing of the danseuse who acquired such
a reputation in London. This cost me, on your account and
mine, 100,000 francs. I said nothing, for we must have peace
in the house; and 100,000 francs for a lady and gentleman to
be properly instructed in music and dancing are not too
much. Well, you soon become tired of singing, and you take a
fancy to study diplomacy with the minister's secretary. You
understand, it signifies nothing to me so long as you pay
for your lessons out of your own cashbox. But to-day I find
you are drawing on mine, and that your apprenticeship may
cost me 700,000 francs per month. Stop there, madame, for
this cannot last. Either the diplomatist must give his
lessons gratis, and I will tolerate him, or he must never
set his foot again in my house; -- do you understand,
madame?"

"Oh, this is too much," cried Hermine, choking, "you are
worse than despicable."

"But," continued Danglars, "I find you did not even pause
there" --

"Insults!"

"You are right; let us leave these facts alone, and reason
coolly. I have never interfered in your affairs excepting
for your good; treat me in the same way. You say you have
nothing to do with my cash-box. Be it so. Do as you like
with your own, but do not fill or empty mine. Besides, how
do I know that this was not a political trick, that the
minister enraged at seeing me in the opposition, and jealous
of the popular sympathy I excite, has not concerted with M.
Debray to ruin me?"

"A probable thing!"

"Why not? Who ever heard of such an occurrence as this? -- a
false telegraphic despatch -- it is almost impossible for
wrong signals to be made as they were in the last two
telegrams. It was done on purpose for me -- I am sure of
it."

"Sir," said the baroness humbly, "are you not aware that the
man employed there was dismissed, that they talked of going
to law with him, that orders were issued to arrest him and
that this order would have been put into execution if he had
not escaped by flight, which proves that he was either mad
or guilty? It was a mistake."

"Yes, which made fools laugh, which caused the minister to
have a sleepless night, which has caused the minister's
secretaries to blacken several sheets of paper, but which
has cost me 700,000 francs."

"But, sir," said Hermine suddenly, "if all this is, as you
say, caused by M. Debray, why, instead of going direct to
him, do you come and tell me of it? Why, to accuse the man,
do you address the woman?"

"Do I know M. Debray? -- do I wish to know him? -- do I wish
to know that he gives advice? -- do I wish to follow it? --
do I speculate? No; you do all this, not I."

"Still it seems to me, that as you profit by it -- "

Danglars shrugged his shoulders. "Foolish creature," he
exclaimed. "Women fancy they have talent because they have
managed two or three intrigues without being the talk of
Paris! But know that if you had even hidden your
irregularities from your husband, who has but the
commencement of the art -- for generally husbands will not
see -- you would then have been but a faint imitation of
most of your friends among the women of the world. But it
has not been so with me, -- I see, and always have seen,
during the last sixteen years. You may, perhaps, have hidden
a thought; but not a step, not an action, not a fault, has
escaped me, while you flattered yourself upon your address,
and firmly believed you had deceived me. What has been the
result? -- that, thanks to my pretended ignorance, there is
none of your friends, from M. de Villefort to M. Debray, who
has not trembled before me. There is not one who has not
treated me as the master of the house, -- the only title I
desire with respect to you; there is not one, in fact, who
would have dared to speak of me as I have spoken of them
this day. I will allow you to make me hateful, but I will
prevent your rendering me ridiculous, and, above all, I
forbid you to ruin me."

The baroness had been tolerably composed until the name of
Villefort had been pronounced; but then she became pale,
and, rising, as if touched by a spring, she stretched out
her hands as though conjuring an apparition; she then took
two or three steps towards her husband, as though to tear
the secret from him, of which he was ignorant, or which he
withheld from some odious calculation, -- odious, as all his
calculations were. "M. de Villefort! -- What do you mean?"

"I mean that M. de Nargonne, your first husband, being
neither a philosopher nor a banker, or perhaps being both,
and seeing there was nothing to be got out of a king's
attorney, died of grief or anger at finding, after an
absence of nine months, that you had been enceinte six. I am
brutal, -- I not only allow it, but boast of it; it is one
of the reasons of my success in commercial business. Why did
he kill himself instead of you? Because he had no cash to
save. My life belongs to my cash. M. Debray has made me lose
700,000 francs; let him bear his share of the loss, and we
will go on as before; if not, let him become bankrupt for
the 250,000 livres, and do as all bankrupts do -- disappear.
He is a charming fellow, I allow, when his news is correct;
but when it is not, there are fifty others in the world who
would do better than he."

Madame Danglars was rooted to the spot; she made a violent
effort to reply to this last attack, but she fell upon a
chair thinking of Villefort, of the dinner scene, of the
strange series of misfortunes which had taken place in her
house during the last few days, and changed the usual calm
of her establishment to a scene of scandalous debate.
Danglars did not even look at her, though she did her best
to faint. He shut the bedroom door after him, without adding
another word, and returned to his apartments; and when
Madame Danglars recovered from her half-fainting condition,
she could almost believe that she had had a disagreeable
dream.

Chapter 66
Matrimonial Projects.

The day following this scene, at the hour the banker usually
chose to pay a visit to Madame Danglars on his way to his
office, his coupe did not appear. At this time, that is,
about half-past twelve, Madame Danglars ordered her
carriage, and went out. Danglars, hidden behind a curtain,
watched the departure he had been waiting for. He gave
orders that he should be informed as soon as Madame Danglars
appeared; but at two o'clock she had not returned. He then
called for his horses, drove to the Chamber, and inscribed
his name to speak against the budget. From twelve to two
o'clock Danglars had remained in his study, unsealing his
dispatches, and becoming more and more sad every minute,
heaping figure upon figure, and receiving, among other
visits, one from Major Cavalcanti, who, as stiff and exact
as ever, presented himself precisely at the hour named the
night before, to terminate his business with the banker. On
leaving the Chamber, Danglars, who had shown violent marks
of agitation during the sitting, and been more bitter than
ever against the ministry, re-entered his carriage, and told
the coachman to drive to the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, No.
30.

Monte Cristo was at home; only he was engaged with some one
and begged Danglars to wait for a moment in the
drawing-room. While the banker was waiting in the anteroom,
the door opened, and a man dressed as an abbe and doubtless
more familiar with the house than he was, came in and
instead of waiting, merely bowed, passed on to the farther
apartments, and disappeared. A minute after the door by
which the priest had entered reopened, and Monte Cristo
appeared. "Pardon me," said he, "my dear baron, but one of
my friends, the Abbe Busoni, whom you perhaps saw pass by,
has just arrived in Paris; not having seen him for a long
time, I could not make up my mind to leave him sooner, so I
hope this will be sufficient reason for my having made you
wait."

"Nay," said Danglars, "it is my fault; I have chosen my
visit at a wrong time, and will retire."

"Not at all; on the contrary, be seated; but what is the
matter with you? You look careworn; really, you alarm me.
Melancholy in a capitalist, like the appearance of a comet,
presages some misfortune to the world."

"I have been in ill-luck for several days," said Danglars,
"and I have heard nothing but bad news."

"Ah, indeed?" said Monte Cristo. "Have you had another fall
at the Bourse?"

"No; I am safe for a few days at least. I am only annoyed
about a bankrupt of Trieste."

"Really? Does it happen to be Jacopo Manfredi?"

"Exactly so. Imagine a man who has transacted business with
me for I don't know how long, to the amount of 800,000 or
900,000 francs during the year. Never a mistake or delay --
a fellow who paid like a prince. Well, I was a million in
advance with him, and now my fine Jacopo Manfredi suspends
payment!"

"Really?"

"It is an unheard-of fatality. I draw upon him for 600,000
francs, my bills are returned unpaid, and, more than that, I
hold bills of exchange signed by him to the value of 400,000
francs, payable at his correspondent's in Paris at the end
of this month. To-day is the 30th. I present them; but my
correspondent has disappeared. This, with my Spanish
affairs, made a pretty end to the month."

"Then you really lost by that affair in Spain?"

"Yes; only 700,000 francs out of my cash-box -- nothing
more!"

"Why, how could you make such a mistake -- such an old
stager?"

"Oh, it is all my wife's fault. She dreamed Don Carlos had
returned to Spain; she believes in dreams. It is magnetism,
she says, and when she dreams a thing it is sure to happen,
she assures me. On this conviction I allow her to speculate,
she having her bank and her stockbroker; she speculated and
lost. It is true she speculates with her own money, not
mine; nevertheless, you can understand that when 700,000
francs leave the wife's pocket, the husband always finds it
out. But do you mean to say you have not heard of this? Why,
the thing has made a tremendous noise."

"Yes, I heard it spoken of, but I did not know the details,
and then no one can be more ignorant than I am of the
affairs in the Bourse."

"Then you do not speculate?"

"I? -- How could I speculate when I already have so much
trouble in regulating my income? I should be obliged,
besides my steward, to keep a clerk and a boy. But touching
these Spanish affairs, I think that the baroness did not
dream the whole of the Don Carlos matter. The papers said
something about it, did they not?"

"Then you believe the papers?"

"I? -- not the least in the world; only I fancied that the
honest Messager was an exception to the rule, and that it
only announced telegraphic despatches."

"Well, that's what puzzles me," replied Danglars; "the news
of the return of Don Carlos was brought by telegraph."

"So that," said Monte Cristo, "you have lost nearly
1,700,000 francs this month."

"Not nearly, indeed; that is exactly my loss."

"Diable," said Monte Cristo compassionately, "it is a hard
blow for a third-rate fortune."

"Third-rate," said Danglars, rather humble, "what do you
mean by that?"

"Certainly," continued Monte Cristo, "I make three
assortments in fortune -- first-rate, second-rate, and
third-rate fortunes. I call those first-rate which are
composed of treasures one possesses under one's hand, such
as mines, lands, and funded property, in such states as
France, Austria, and England, provided these treasures and
property form a total of about a hundred millions; I call
those second-rate fortunes, that are gained by manufacturing
enterprises, joint-stock companies, viceroyalties, and
principalities, not drawing more than 1,500,000 francs, the
whole forming a capital of about fifty millions; finally, I
call those third-rate fortunes, which are composed of a
fluctuating capital, dependent upon the will of others, or
upon chances which a bankruptcy involves or a false telegram
shakes, such as banks, speculations of the day -- in fact,
all operations under the influence of greater or less
mischances, the whole bringing in a real or fictitious
capital of about fifteen millions. I think this is about
your position, is it not?"

"Confound it, yes!" replied Danglars.

"The result, then, of six more such months as this would be
to reduce the third-rate house to despair."

"Oh," said Danglars, becoming very pale, how you are running
on!"

"Let us imagine seven such months," continued Monte Cristo,
in the same tone. "Tell me, have you ever thought that seven
times 1,700,000 francs make nearly twelve millions? No, you
have not; -- well, you are right, for if you indulged in
such reflections, you would never risk your principal, which
is to the speculator what the skin is to civilized man. We
have our clothes, some more splendid than others, -- this is
our credit; but when a man dies he has only his skin; in the
same way, on retiring from business, you have nothing but
your real principal of about five or six millions, at the
most; for third-rate fortunes are never more than a fourth
of what they appear to be, like the locomotive on a railway,
the size of which is magnified by the smoke and steam
surrounding it. Well, out of the five or six millions which
form your real capital, you have just lost nearly two
millions, which must, of course, in the same degree diminish
your credit and fictitious fortune; to follow out my simile,
your skin has been opened by bleeding, and this if repeated
three or four times will cause death -- so pay attention to
it, my dear Monsieur Danglars. Do you want money? Do you
wish me to lend you some?"

"What a bad calculator you are!" exclaimed Danglars, calling
to his assistance all his philosophy and dissimulation. "I
have made money at the same time by speculations which have
succeeded. I have made up the loss of blood by nutrition. I
lost a battle in Spain, I have been defeated in Trieste, but
my naval army in India will have taken some galleons, and my
Mexican pioneers will have discovered some mine."

"Very good, very good! But the wound remains and will reopen
at the first loss."

"No, for I am only embarked in certainties," replied
Danglars, with the air of a mountebank sounding his own
praises; "to involve me, three governments must crumble to
dust."

"Well, such things have been."

"That there should be a famine!"

"Recollect the seven fat and the seven lean kine."

"Or, that the sea should become dry, as in the days of
Pharaoh, and even then my vessels would become caravans."

"So much the better. I congratulate you, my dear M.
Danglars," said Monte Cristo; "I see I was deceived, and
that you belong to the class of second-rate fortunes."

"I think I may aspire to that honor," said Danglars with a
smile, which reminded Monte Cristo of the sickly moons which
bad artists are so fond of daubing into their pictures of
ruins. "But, while we are speaking of business," Danglars
added, pleased to find an opportunity of changing the
subject, "tell me what I am to do for M. Cavalcanti."

"Give him money, if he is recommended to you, and the
recommendation seems good."

"Excellent; he presented himself this morning with a bond of
40,000 francs, payable at sight, on you, signed by Busoni,
and returned by you to me, with your indorsement -- of
course, I immediately counted him over the forty
bank-notes."

Monte Cristo nodded his head in token of assent. "But that
is not all," continued Danglars; "he has opened an account
with my house for his son."

"May I ask how much he allows the young man?"

"Five thousand francs per month."

"Sixty thousand francs per year. I thought I was right in
believing that Cavalcanti to be a stingy fellow. How can a
young man live upon 5,000 francs a month?"

"But you understand that if the young man should want a few
thousands more" --

"Do not advance it; the father will never repay it. You do
not know these ultramontane millionaires; they are regular
misers. And by whom were they recommended to you?"

"Oh, by the house of Fenzi, one of the best in Florence."

"I do not mean to say you will lose, but, nevertheless, mind
you hold to the terms of the agreement."

"Would you not trust the Cavalcanti?"

"I? oh, I would advance six millions on his signature. I was
only speaking in reference to the second-rate fortunes we
were mentioning just now."

"And with all this, how unassuming he is! I should never
have taken him for anything more than a mere major."

"And you would have flattered him, for certainly, as you
say, he has no manner. The first time I saw him he appeared
to me like an old lieutenant who had grown mouldy under his
epaulets. But all the Italians are the same; they are like
old Jews when they are not glittering in Oriental splendor."

"The young man is better," said Danglars.

"Yes; a little nervous, perhaps, but, upon the whole, he
appeared tolerable. I was uneasy about him."

"Why?"

"Because you met him at my house, just after his
introduction into the world, as they told me. He has been
travelling with a very severe tutor, and had never been to
Paris before."

"Ah, I believe noblemen marry amongst themselves, do they
not?" asked Danglars carelessly; they like to unite their
fortunes."

"It is usual, certainly; but Cavalcanti is an original who
does nothing like other people. I cannot help thinking that
he has brought his son to France to choose a wife."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"And you have heard his fortune mentioned?"

"Nothing else was talked of; only some said he was worth
millions, and others that he did not possess a farthing."

"And what is your opinion?"

"I ought not to influence you, because it is only my own
personal impression."

"Well, and it is that" --

"My opinion is, that all these old podestas, these ancient
condottieri, -- for the Cavalcanti have commanded armies and
governed provinces, -- my opinion, I say, is, that they have
buried their millions in corners, the secret of which they
have transmitted only to their eldest sons, who have done
the same from generation to generation; and the proof of
this is seen in their yellow and dry appearance, like the
florins of the republic, which, from being constantly gazed
upon, have become reflected in them."

"Certainly," said Danglars, "and this is further supported
by the fact of their not possessing an inch of land."

"Very little, at least; I know of none which Cavalcanti
possesses, excepting his palace in Lucca."

"Ah, he has a palace?" said Danglars, laughing; "come, that
is something."

"Yes; and more than that, he lets it to the Minister of
Finance while he lives in a simple house. Oh, as I told you
before, I think the old fellow is very close."

"Come, you do not flatter him."

"I scarcely know him; I think I have seen him three times in
my life; all I know relating to him is through Busoni and
himself. He was telling me this morning that, tired of
letting his property lie dormant in Italy, which is a dead
nation, he wished to find a method, either in France or
England, of multiplying his millions, but remember, that
though I place great confidence in Busoni, I am not
responsible for this."

"Never mind; accept my thanks for the client you have sent
me. It is a fine name to inscribe on my ledgers, and my
cashier was quite proud of it when I explained to him who
the Cavalcanti were. By the way, this is merely a simple
question, when this sort of people marry their sons, do they
give them any fortune?"

"Oh, that depends upon circumstances. I know an Italian
prince, rich as a gold mine, one of the noblest families in
Tuscany, who, when his sons married according to his wish,
gave them millions; and when they married against his
consent, merely allowed them thirty crowns a month. Should
Andrea marry according to his father's views, he will,
perhaps, give him one, two, or three millions. For example,
supposing it were the daughter of a banker, he might take an
interest in the house of the father-in-law of his son; then
again, if he disliked his choice, the major takes the key,
double-locks his coffer, and Master Andrea would be obliged
to live like the sons of a Parisian family, by shuffling
cards or rattling the dice."

"Ah, that boy will find out some Bavarian or Peruvian
princess; he will want a crown and an immense fortune."

"No; these grand lords on the other side of the Alps
frequently marry into plain families; like Jupiter, they
like to cross the race. But do you wish to marry Andrea, my
dear M. Danglars, that you are asking so many questions?"

"Ma foi," said Danglars, "it would not be a bad speculation,
I fancy, and you know I am a speculator."

"You are not thinking of Mademoiselle Danglars, I hope; you
would not like poor Andrea to have his throat cut by
Albert?"

"Albert," repeated Danglars, shrugging his shoulders; "ah,
well; he would care very little about it, I think."

"But he is betrothed to your daughter, I believe?"

"Well, M. de Morcerf and I have talked about this marriage,
but Madame de Morcerf and Albert" --

"You do not mean to say that it would not be a good match?"

"Indeed, I imagine that Mademoiselle Danglars is as good as
M. de Morcerf."

"Mademoiselle Danglars' fortune will be great, no doubt,
especially it the telegraph should not make any more
mistakes."

"Oh, I do not mean her fortune only; but tell me" --

"What?"

"Why did you not invite M. and Madame de Morcerf to your
dinner?"

"I did so, but he excused himself on account of Madame de
Morcerf being obliged to go to Dieppe for the benefit of sea
air."

"Yes, yes," said Danglars, laughing, "it would do her a
great deal of good."

"Why so?"

"Because it is the air she always breathed in her youth."
Monte Cristo took no notice of this ill-natured remark.

"But still, if Albert be not so rich as Mademoiselle
Danglars," said the count, "you must allow that he has a
fine name?"

"So he has; but I like mine as well."

"Certainly; your name is popular, and does honor to the
title they have adorned it with; but you are too intelligent
not to know that according to a prejudice, too firmly rooted
to be exterminated, a nobility which dates back five
centuries is worth more than one that can only reckon twenty
years."

"And for this very reason," said Danglars with a smile,
which he tried to make sardonic, "I prefer M. Andrea
Cavalcanti to M. Albert de Morcerf."

"Still, I should not think the Morcerfs would yield to the
Cavalcanti?"

"The Morcerfs! -- Stay, my dear count," said Danglars; "you
are a man of the world, are you not?"

"I think so."

"And you understand heraldry?"

"A little."

"Well, look at my coat-of-arms, it is worth more than
Morcerf's."

"Why so?"

"Because, though I am not a baron by birth, my real name is,
at least, Danglars."

"Well, what then?"

"While his name is not Morcerf."

"How? -- not Morcerf?"

"Not the least in the world."

"Go on."

"I have been made a baron, so that I actually am one; he
made himself a count, so that he is not one at all."

"Impossible!"

"Listen my dear count; M. de Morcerf has been my friend, or
rather my acquaintance, during the last thirty years. You
know I have made the most of my arms, though I never forgot
my origin."

"A proof of great humility or great pride," said Monte
Cristo.

"Well, when I was a clerk, Morcerf was a mere fisherman."

"And then he was called" --

"Fernand."

"Only Fernand?"

"Fernand Mondego."

"You are sure?"

"Pardieu, I have bought enough fish of him to know his
name."

"Then, why did you think of giving your daughter to him?"

"Because Fernand and Danglars, being both parvenus, both
having become noble, both rich, are about equal in worth,
excepting that there have been certain things mentioned of
him that were never said of me."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing!"

"Ah, yes; what you tell me recalls to mind something about
the name of Fernand Mondego. I have heard that name in
Greece."

"In conjunction with the affairs of Ali Pasha?"

"Exactly so."

"This is the mystery," said Danglars. "I acknowledge I would
have given anything to find it out."

"It would be very easy if you much wished it?"

"How so?"

"Probably you have some correspondent in Greece?"

"I should think so."

"At Yanina?"

"Everywhere."

"Well, write to your correspondent in Yanina, and ask him
what part was played by a Frenchman named Fernand Mondego in
the catastrophe of Ali Tepelini."

"You are right," exclaimed Danglars, rising quickly, "I will
write to-day."

"Do so."

"I will."

"And if you should hear of anything very scandalous" --

"I will communicate it to you."

"You will oblige me." Danglars rushed out of the room, and
made but one leap into his coupe.

Chapter 67
At the Office of the King's Attorney.

Let us leave the banker driving his horses at their fullest
speed, and follow Madame Danglars in her morning excursion.
We have said that at half-past twelve o'clock Madame
Danglars had ordered her horses, and had left home in the
carriage. She directed her course towards the Faubourg Saint
Germain, went down the Rue Mazarine, and stopped at the
Passage du Pont-Neuf. She descended, and went through the
passage. She was very plainly dressed, as would be the case
with a woman of taste walking in the morning. At the Rue
Guenegaud she called a cab, and directed the driver to go to
the Rue de Harlay. As soon as she was seated in the vehicle,
she drew from her pocket a very thick black veil, which she
tied on to her straw bonnet. She then replaced the bonnet,
and saw with pleasure, in a little pocket-mirror, that her
white complexion and brilliant eyes were alone visible. The
cab crossed the Pont-Neuf and entered the Rue de Harlay by
the Place Dauphine; the driver was paid as the door opened,
and stepping lightly up the stairs Madame Danglars soon
reached the Salle des Pas-Perdus.

There was a great deal going on that morning, and many
business-like persons at the Palais; business-like persons
pay very little attention to women, and Madame Danglars
crossed the hall without exciting any more attention than
any other woman calling upon her lawyer. There was a great
press of people in M. de Villefort's ante-chamber, but
Madame Danglars had no occasion even to pronounce her name.
The instant she appeared the door-keeper rose, came to her,
and asked her whether she was not the person with whom the
procureur had made an appointment; and on her affirmative
answer being given, he conducted her by a private passage to
M. de Villefort's office. The magistrate was seated in an
arm-chair, writing, with his back towards the door; he did
not move as he heard it open, and the door-keeper pronounce
the words, "Walk in, madame," and then reclose it; but no
sooner had the man's footsteps ceased, than he started up,
drew the bolts, closed the curtains, and examined every
corner of the room. Then, when he had assured himself that
he could neither be seen nor heard, and was consequently
relieved of doubts, he said, -- "Thanks, madame, -- thanks
for your punctuality; "and he offered a chair to Madame
Danglars, which she accepted, for her heart beat so
violently that she felt nearly suffocated.

"It is a long time, madame," said the procureur, describing
a half-circle with his chair, so as to place himself exactly
opposite to Madame Danglars, -- "it is a long time since I
had the pleasure of speaking alone with you, and I regret
that we have only now met to enter upon a painful
conversation."

"Nevertheless, sir, you see I have answered your first
appeal, although certainly the conversation must be much
more painful for me than for you." Villefort smiled
bitterly.

"It is true, then," he said, rather uttering his thoughts
aloud than addressing his companion, -- "it is true, then,
that all our actions leave their traces -- some sad, others
bright -- on our paths; it is true that every step in our
lives is like the course of an insect on the sands; -- it
leaves its track! Alas, to many the path is traced by
tears."

"Sir," said Madame Danglars, "you can feel for my emotion,
can you not? Spare me, then, I beseech you. When I look at
this room, -- whence so many guilty creatures have departed,
trembling and ashamed, when I look at that chair before
which I now sit trembling and ashamed, -- oh, it requires
all my reason to convince me that I am not a very guilty
woman and you a menacing judge." Villefort dropped his head
and sighed. "And I," he said, "I feel that my place is not
in the judge's seat, but on the prisoner's stool."

"You?" said Madame Danglars.

"Yes, I."

"I think, sir, you exaggerate your situation," said Madame
Danglars, whose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. "The
paths of which you were just speaking have been traced by
all young men of ardent imaginations. Besides the pleasure,
there is always remorse from the indulgence of our passions,
and, after all, what have you men to fear from all this? the
world excuses, and notoriety ennobles you."

"Madame," replied Villefort, "you know that I am no
hypocrite, or, at least, that I never deceive without a
reason. If my brow be severe, it is because many misfortunes
have clouded it; if my heart be petrified, it is that it
might sustain the blows it has received. I was not so in my
youth, I was not so on the night of the betrothal, when we
were all seated around a table in the Rue du Cours at
Marseilles. But since then everything has changed in and
about me; I am accustomed to brave difficulties, and, in the
conflict to crush those who, by their own free will, or by
chance, voluntarily or involuntarily, interfere with me in
my career. It is generally the case that what we most
ardently desire is as ardently withheld from us by those who
wish to obtain it, or from whom we attempt to snatch it.
Thus, the greater number of a man's errors come before him
disguised under the specious form of necessity; then, after
error has been committed in a moment of excitement, of
delirium, or of fear, we see that we might have avoided and
escaped it. The means we might have used, which we in our
blindness could not see, then seem simple and easy, and we
say, `Why did I not do this, instead of that?' Women, on the
contrary, are rarely tormented with remorse; for the
decision does not come from you, -- your misfortunes are
generally imposed upon you, and your faults the results of
others' crimes."

"In any case, sir, you will allow," replied Madame Danglars,
"that, even if the fault were alone mine, I last night
received a severe punishment for it."

"Poor thing," said Villefort, pressing her hand, "it was too
severe for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed,
and yet" --

"Well?"

"Well, I must tell you. Collect all your courage, for you
have not yet heard all."

"Ah," exclaimed Madame Danglars, alarmed, "what is there
more to hear?"

"You only look back to the past, and it is, indeed, bad
enough. Well, picture to yourself a future more gloomy still
-- certainly frightful, perhaps sanguinary." The baroness
knew how calm Villefort naturally was, and his present
excitement frightened her so much that she opened her mouth
to scream, but the sound died in her throat. "How has this
terrible past been recalled?" cried Villefort; "how is it
that it has escaped from the depths of the tomb and the
recesses of our hearts, where it was buried, to visit us
now, like a phantom, whitening our cheeks and flushing our
brows with shame?"

"Alas," said Hermine, "doubtless it is chance."

"Chance?" replied Villefort; "No, no, madame, there is no
such thing as chance."

"Oh, yes; has not a fatal chance revealed all this? Was it
not by chance the Count of Monte Cristo bought that house?
Was it not by chance he caused the earth to be dug up? Is it
not by chance that the unfortunate child was disinterred
under the trees? -- that poor innocent offspring of mine,
which I never even kissed, but for whom I wept many, many
tears. Ah, my heart clung to the count when he mentioned the
dear spoil found beneath the flowers."

"Well, no, madame, -- this is the terrible news I have to
tell you," said Villefort in a hollow voice -- "no, nothing
was found beneath the flowers; there was no child
disinterred -- no. You must not weep, no, you must not
groan, you must tremble!"

"What can you mean?" asked Madame Danglars, shuddering.

"I mean that M. de Monte Cristo, digging underneath these
trees, found neither skeleton nor chest, because neither of
them was there!"

"Neither of them there?" repeated Madame Danglars, her
staring, wide-open eyes expressing her alarm.

"Neither of them there!" she again said, as though striving
to impress herself with the meaning of the words which
escaped her.

"No," said Villefort, burying his face in his hands, "no, a
hundred times no!"

"Then you did not bury the poor child there, sir? Why did
you deceive me? Where did you place it? tell me -- where?"

"There! But listen to me -- listen -- and you will pity me
who has for twenty years alone borne the heavy burden of
grief I am about to reveal, without casting the least
portion upon you."

"Oh, you frighten me! But speak; I will listen."

"You recollect that sad night, when you were half-expiring
on that bed in the red damask room, while I, scarcely less
agitated than you, awaited your delivery. The child was
born, was given to me -- motionless, breathless, voiceless;
we thought it dead." Madame Danglars moved rapidly, as
though she would spring from her chair, but Villefort
stopped, and clasped his hands as if to implore her
attention. "We thought it dead," he repeated; "I placed it
in the chest, which was to take the place of a coffin; I
descended to the garden, I dug a hole, and then flung it
down in haste. Scarcely had I covered it with earth, when
the arm of the Corsican was stretched towards me; I saw a
shadow rise, and, at the same time, a flash of light. I felt
pain; I wished to cry out, but an icy shiver ran through my
veins and stifled my voice; I fell lifeless, and fancied
myself killed. Never shall I forget your sublime courage,
when, having returned to consciousness, I dragged myself to
the foot of the stairs, and you, almost dying yourself, came
to meet me. We were obliged to keep silent upon the dreadful
catastrophe. You had the fortitude to regain the house,
assisted by your nurse. A duel was the pretext for my wound.
Though we scarcely expected it, our secret remained in our
own keeping alone. I was taken to Versailles; for three
months I struggled with death; at last, as I seemed to cling
to life, I was ordered to the South. Four men carried me
from Paris to Chalons, walking six leagues a day; Madame de
Villefort followed the litter in her carriage. At Chalons I
was put upon the Saone, thence I passed on to he Rhone,
whence I descended, merely with the current, to Arles; at
Arles I was again placed on my litter, and continued my
journey to Marseilles. My recovery lasted six months. I
never heard you mentioned, and I did not dare inquire for
you. When I returned to Paris, I learned that you, the widow
of M. de Nargonne, had married M. Danglars.

"What was the subject of my thoughts from the time
consciousness returned to me? Always the same -- always the
child's corpse, coming every night in my dreams, rising from
the earth, and hovering over the grave with menacing look
and gesture. I inquired immediately on my return to Paris;
the house had not been inhabited since we left it, but it
had just been let for nine years. I found the tenant. I
pretended that I disliked the idea that a house belonging to
my wife's father and mother should pass into the hands of
strangers. I offered to pay them for cancelling the lease;
they demanded 6,000 francs. I would have given 10,000 -- I
would have given 20,000. I had the money with me; I made the
tenant sign the deed of resilition, and when I had obtained
what I so much wanted, I galloped to Auteuil.

"No one had entered the house since I had left it. It was
five o'clock in the afternoon; I ascended into the red room,
and waited for night. There all the thoughts which had
disturbed me during my year of constant agony came back with
double force. The Corsican, who had declared the vendetta
against me, who had followed me from Nimes to Paris, who had
hid himself in the garden, who had struck me, had seen me
dig the grave, had seen me inter the child, -- he might
become acquainted with your person, -- nay, he might even
then have known it. Would he not one day make you pay for
keeping this terrible secret? Would it not be a sweet
revenge for him when he found that I had not died from the
blow of his dagger? It was therefore necessary, before
everything else, and at all risks, that I should cause all
traces of the past to disappear -- that I should destroy
every material vestige; too much reality would always remain
in my recollection. It was for this I had annulled the lease
-- it was for this I had come -- it was for this I was
waiting. Night arrived; I allowed it to become quite dark. I
was without a light in that room; when the wind shook all
the doors, behind which I continually expected to see some
spy concealed, I trembled. I seemed everywhere to hear your
moans behind me in the bed, and I dared not turn around. My
heart beat so violently that I feared my wound would open.
At length, one by one, all the noises in the neighborhood
ceased. I understood that I had nothing to fear, that I
should neither be seen nor heard, so I decided upon
descending to the garden.

"Listen, Hermine; I consider myself as brave as most men,
but when I drew from my breast the little key of the
staircase, which I had found in my coat -- that little key
we both used to cherish so much, which you wished to have
fastened to a golden ring -- when I opened the door, and saw
the pale moon shedding a long stream of white light on the
spiral staircase like a spectre, I leaned against the wall,
and nearly shrieked. I seemed to be going mad. At last I
mastered my agitation. I descended the staircase step by
step; the only thing I could not conquer was a strange
trembling in my knees. I grasped the railings; if I had
relaxed my hold for a moment, I should have fallen. I
reached the lower door. Outside this door a spade was placed
against the wall; I took it, and advanced towards the
thicket. I had provided myself with a dark lantern. In the
middle of the lawn I stopped to light it, then I continued
my path.

"It was the end of November, all the verdure of the garden
had disappeared, the trees were nothing more than skeletons
with their long bony arms, and the dead leaves sounded on
the gravel under my feet. My terror overcame me to such a
degree as I approached the thicket, that I took a pistol
from my pocket and armed myself. I fancied continually that
I saw the figure of the Corsican between the branches. I
examined the thicket with my dark lantern; it was empty. I
looked carefully around; I was indeed alone, -- no noise
disturbed the silence but the owl, whose piercing cry seemed
to be calling up the phantoms of the night. I tied my
lantern to a forked branch I had noticed a year before at
the precise spot where I stopped to dig the hole.

"The grass had grown very thickly there during the summer,
and when autumn arrived no one had been there to mow it.
Still one place where the grass was thin attracted my
attention; it evidently was there I had turned up the
ground. I went to work. The hour, then, for which I had been
waiting during the last year had at length arrived. How I
worked, how I hoped, how I struck every piece of turf,
thinking to find some resistance to my spade! But no, I
found nothing, though I had made a hole twice as large as
the first. I thought I had been deceived -- had mistaken the
spot. I turned around, I looked at the trees, I tried to
recall the details which had struck me at the time. A cold,
sharp wind whistled through the leafless branches, and yet
the drops fell from my forehead. I recollected that I was
stabbed just as I was trampling the ground to fill up the
hole; while doing so I had leaned against a laburnum; behind
me was an artificial rockery, intended to serve as a
resting-place for persons walking in the garden; in falling,
my hand, relaxing its hold of the laburnum, felt the
coldness of the stone. On my right I saw the tree, behind me
the rock. I stood in the same attitude, and threw myself
down. I rose, and again began digging and enlarging the
hole; still I found nothing, nothing -- the chest was no
longer there!"

"The chest no longer there?" murmured Madame Danglars,
choking with fear.

Think not I contented myself with this one effort,"
continued Villefort. "No; I searched the whole thicket. I
thought the assassin, having discovered the chest, and
supposing it to be a treasure, had intended carrying it off,
but, perceiving his error, had dug another hole, and
deposited it there; but I could find nothing. Then the idea
struck me that he had not taken these precautions, and had
simply thrown it in a corner. In the last case I must wait
for daylight to renew my search. I remained the room and
waited."

"Oh, heavens!"

When daylight dawned I went down again. My first visit was
to the thicket. I hoped to find some traces which had
escaped me in the darkness. I had turned up the earth over a
surface of more than twenty feet square, and a depth of two
feet. A laborer would not have done in a day what occupied
me an hour. But I could find nothing -- absolutely nothing.
Then I renewed the search. Supposing it had been thrown
aside, it would probably be on the path which led to the
little gate; but this examination was as useless as the
first, and with a bursting heart I returned to the thicket,
which now contained no hope for me."

"Oh," cried Madame Danglars, "it was enough to drive you
mad!"

"I hoped for a moment that it might," said Villefort; "but
that happiness was denied me. However, recovering my
strength and my ideas, `Why,' said I, `should that man have
carried away the corpse?'"

"But you said," replied Madame Danglars, "he would require
it as a proof."

"Ah, no, madame, that could not be. Dead bodies are not kept
a year; they are shown to a magistrate, and the evidence is
taken. Now, nothing of the kind has happened."

"What then?" asked Hermine, trembling violently.

"Something more terrible, more fatal, more alarming for us
-- the child was, perhaps, alive, and the assassin may have
saved it!"

Madame Danglars uttered a piercing cry, and, seizing
Villefort's hands, exclaimed, "My child was alive?" said
she; "you buried my child alive? You were not certain my
child was dead, and you buried it? Ah" --

Madame Danglars had risen, and stood before the procureur,
whose hands she wrung in her feeble grasp. "I know not; I
merely suppose so, as I might suppose anything else,"
replied Villefort with a look so fixed, it indicated that
his powerful mind was on the verge of despair and madness.
"Ah, my child, my poor child!" cried the baroness, falling
on her chair, and stifling her sobs in her handkerchief.
Villefort, becoming somewhat reassured, perceived that to
avert the maternal storm gathering over his head, he must
inspire Madame Danglars with the terror he felt. "You
understand, then, that if it were so," said he, rising in
his turn, and approaching the baroness, to speak to her in a
lower tone, "we are lost. This child lives, and some one
knows it lives -- some one is in possession of our secret;
and since Monte Cristo speaks before us of a child
disinterred, when that child could not be found, it is he
who is in possession of our secret."

"Just God, avenging God!" murmured Madame Danglars.

Villefort's only answer was a stifled groan.

"But the child -- the child, sir?" repeated the agitated
mother.

"How I have searched for him," replied Villefort, wringing
his hands; "how I have called him in my long sleepless
nights; how I have longed for royal wealth to purchase a
million of secrets from a million of men, and to find mine
among them! At last, one day, when for the hundredth time I
took up my spade, I asked myself again and again what the
Corsican could have done with the child. A child encumbers a
fugitive; perhaps, on perceiving it was still alive, he had
thrown it into the river."

"Impossible!" cried Madame Danglars: "a man may murder
another out of revenge, but he would not deliberately drown
a child."

"Perhaps," continued Villefort, "he had put it in the
foundling hospital."

"Oh, yes, yes," cried the baroness; "my child is there!"

"I ran to the hospital, and learned that the same night --
the night of the 20th of September -- a child had been
brought there, wrapped in part of a fine linen napkin,
purposely torn in half. This portion of the napkin was
marked with half a baron's crown, and the letter H."

"Truly, truly," said Madame Danglars, "all my linen is
marked thus; Monsieur de Nargonne was a baronet, and my name
is Hermine. Thank God, my child was not then dead!"

"No, it was not dead."

"And you can tell me so without fearing to make me die of
joy? Where is the child?" Villefort shrugged his shoulders.
"Do I know?" said he; "and do you believe that if I knew I
would relate to you all its trials and all its adventures as
would a dramatist or a novel writer? Alas, no, I know not. A
woman, about six months after, came to claim it with the
other half of the napkin. This woman gave all the requisite
particulars, and it was intrusted to her."

"But you should have inquired for the woman; you should have
traced her."

"And what do you think I did? I feigned a criminal process,
and employed all the most acute bloodhounds and skilful
agents in search of her. They traced her to Chalons, and
there they lost her."

"They lost her?"

"Yes, forever." Madame Danglars had listened to this recital
with a sigh, a tear, or a shriek for every detail. "And this
is all?" said she; "and you stopped there?"

"Oh, no," said Villefort; "I never ceased to search and to
inquire. However, the last two or three years I had allowed
myself some respite. But now I will begin with more
perseverance and fury than ever, since fear urges me, not my
conscience."

"But," replied Madame Danglars, "the Count of Monte Cristo
can know nothing, or he would not seek our society as he
does."

"Oh, the wickedness of man is very great," said Villefort,
"since it surpasses the goodness of God. Did you observe
that man's eyes while he was speaking to us?"

"No."

"But have you ever watched him carefully?"

"Doubtless he is capricious, but that is all; one thing
alone struck me, -- of all the exquisite things he placed
before us, he touched nothing. I might have suspected he was
poisoning us."

"And you see you would have been deceived."

"Yes, doubtless."

"But believe me, that man has other projects. For that
reason I wished to see you, to speak to you, to warn you
against every one, but especially against him. Tell me,"
cried Villefort, fixing his eyes more steadfastly on her
than he had ever done before, "did you ever reveal to any
one our connection?"

"Never, to any one."

"You understand me," replied Villefort, affectionately;
"when I say any one, -- pardon my urgency, -- to any one
living I mean?"

"Yes, yes, I understand very well," ejaculated the baroness;
"never, I swear to you."

"Were you ever in the habit of writing in the evening what
had transpired in the morning? Do you keep a journal?"

"No, my life has been passed in frivolity; I wish to forget
it myself."

"Do you talk in your sleep?"

"I sleep soundly, like a child; do you not remember?" The
color mounted to the baroness's face, and Villefort turned
awfully pale.

"It is true," said he, in so low a tone that he could hardly
be heard.

"Well?" said the baroness.

"Well, I understand what I now have to do," replied
Villefort. "In less than one week from this time I will
ascertain who this M. de Monte Cristo is, whence he comes,
where he goes, and why he speaks in our presence of children
that have been disinterred in a garden." Villefort
pronounced these words with an accent which would have made
the count shudder had he heard him. Then he pressed the hand
the baroness reluctantly gave him, and led her respectfully
back to the door. Madame Danglars returned in another cab to
the passage, on the other side of which she found her
carriage, and her coachman sleeping peacefully on his box
while waiting for her.

Chapter 68
A Summer Ball.

The same day during the interview between Madame Danglars
and the procureur, a travelling-carriage entered the Rue du
Helder, passed through the gateway of No. 27, and stopped in
the yard. In a moment the door was opened, and Madame de
Morcerf alighted, leaning on her son's arm. Albert soon left
her, ordered his horses, and having arranged his toilet,
drove to the Champs Elysees, to the house of Monte Cristo.
The count received him with his habitual smile. It was a
strange thing that no one ever appeared to advance a step in
that man's favor. Those who would, as it were, force a
passage to his heart, found an impassable barrier. Morcerf,
who ran towards him with open arms, was chilled as he drew
near, in spite of the friendly smile, and simply held out
his hand. Monte Cristo shook it coldly, according to his
invariable practice. "Here I am, dear count."

"Welcome home again."

"I arrived an hour since."

"From Dieppe?"

"No, from Treport."

"Indeed?"

"And I have come at once to see you."

"That is extremely kind of you," said Monte Cristo with a
tone of perfect indifference.

"And what is the news?"

"You should not ask a stranger, a foreigner, for news."

"I know it, but in asking for news, I mean, have you done
anything for me?"

"Had you commissioned me?" said Monte Cristo, feigning
uneasiness.

"Come, come," said Albert, "do not assume so much
indifference. It is said, sympathy travels rapidly, and when
at Treport, I felt the electric shock; you have either been
working for me or thinking of me."

"Possibly," said Monte Cristo, "I have indeed thought of
you, but the magnetic wire I was guiding acted, indeed,
without my knowledge."

"Indeed? Pray tell me how it happened?"

"Willingly. M. Danglars dined with me."

"I know it; to avoid meeting him, my mother and I left
town."

"But he met here M. Andrea Cavalcanti."

"Your Italian prince?"

"Not so fast; M. Andrea only calls himself count."

"Calls himself, do you say?"

"Yes, calls himself."

"Is he not a count?"

"What can I know of him? He calls himself so. I, of course,
give him the same title, and every one else does likewise."

"What a strange man you are! What next? You say M. Danglars
dined here?"

"Yes, with Count Cavalcanti, the marquis his father, Madame
Danglars, M. and Madame de Villefort, -- charming people, --
M. Debray, Maximilian Morrel, and M. de Chateau-Renaud."

"Did they speak of me?"

"Not a word."

"So much the worse."

"Why so? I thought you wished them to forget you?"

"If they did not speak of me, I am sure they thought about
me, and I am in despair."

"How will that affect you, since Mademoiselle Danglars was
not among the number here who thought of you? Truly, she
might have thought of you at home."

"I have no fear of that; or, if she did, it was only in the
same way in which I think of her."

"Touching sympathy! So you hate each other?" said the count.

"Listen," said Morcerf -- "if Mademoiselle Danglars were
disposed to take pity on my supposed martyrdom on her
account, and would dispense with all matrimonial formalities
between our two families, I am ready to agree to the
arrangement. In a word, Mademoiselle Danglars would make a
charming mistress -- but a wife -- diable!"

"And this," said Monte Cristo, "is your opinion of your
intended spouse?"

"Yes; it is rather unkind, I acknowledge, but it is true.
But as this dream cannot be realized, since Mademoiselle
Danglars must become my lawful wife, live perpetually with
me, sing to me, compose verses and music within ten paces of
me, and that for my whole life, it frightens me. One may
forsake a mistress, but a wife, -- good heavens! There she
must always be; and to marry Mademoiselle Danglars would be
awful."

"You are difficult to please, viscount."

"Yes, for I often wish for what is impossible."

"What is that?"

"To find such a wife as my father found." Monte Cristo
turned pale, and looked at Albert, while playing with some
magnificent pistols.

"Your father was fortunate, then?" said he.

"You know my opinion of my mother, count; look at her, --
still beautiful, witty, more charming than ever. For any
other son to have stayed with his mother for four days at
Treport, it would have been a condescension or a martyrdom,
while I return, more contented, more peaceful -- shall I say
more poetic! -- than if I had taken Queen Mab or Titania as
my companion."

"That is an overwhelming demonstration, and you would make
every one vow to live a single life."

"Such are my reasons for not liking to marry Mademoiselle
Danglars. Have you ever noticed how much a thing is
heightened in value when we obtain possession of it? The
diamond which glittered in the window at Marle's or Fossin's
shines with more splendor when it is our own; but if we are
compelled to acknowledge the superiority of another, and
still must retain the one that is inferior, do you not know
what we have to endure?"

"Worldling," murmured the count.

"Thus I shall rejoice when Mademoiselle Eugenie perceives I
am but a pitiful atom, with scarcely as many hundred
thousand francs as she has millions." Monte Cristo smiled.
"One plan occurred to me," continued Albert; "Franz likes
all that is eccentric; I tried to make him fall in love with
Mademoiselle Danglars; but in spite of four letters, written
in the most alluring style, he invariably answered: `My
eccentricity may be great, but it will not make me break my
promise.'"

"That is what I call devoted friendship, to recommend to
another one whom you would not marry yourself." Albert
smiled. -- "Apropos," continued he, "Franz is coming soon,
but it will not interest you; you dislike him, I think?"

"I?" said Monte Cristo; "my dear Viscount, how have you
discovered that I did not like M. Franz! I like every one."

"And you include me in the expression every one -- many
thanks!"

"Let us not mistake," said Monte Cristo; "I love every one
as God commands us to love our neighbor, as Christians; but
I thoroughly hate but a few. Let us return to M. Franz
d'Epinay. Did you say he was coming?"

"Yes; summoned by M. de Villefort, who is apparently as
anxious to get Mademoiselle Valentine married as M. Danglars
is to see Mademoiselle Eugenie settled. It must be a very
irksome office to be the father of a grown-up daughter; it
seems to make one feverish, and to raise one's pulse to
ninety beats a minute until the deed is done."

"But M. d'Epinay, unlike you, bears his misfortune
patiently."

"Still more, he talks seriously about the matter, puts on a
white tie, and speaks of his family. He entertains a very
high opinion of M. and Madame de Villefort."

"Which they deserve, do they not?"

"I believe they do. M. de Villefort has always passed for a
severe but a just man."

"There is, then, one," said Monte Cristo, "whom you do not
condemn like poor Danglars?"

"Because I am not compelled to marry his daughter perhaps,"
replied Albert, laughing.

"Indeed, my dear sir," said Monte Cristo, "you are
revoltingly foppish."

"I foppish? how do you mean?"

"Yes; pray take a cigar, and cease to defend yourself, and
to struggle to escape marrying Mademoiselle Danglars. Let
things take their course; perhaps you may not have to
retract."

"Bah," said Albert, staring.

"Doubtless, my dear viscount, you will not be taken by
force; and seriously, do you wish to break off your
engagement?"

"I would give a hundred thousand francs to be able to do
so."

"Then make yourself quite easy. M. Danglars would give
double that sum to attain the same end."

"Am I, indeed, so happy?" said Albert, who still could not
prevent an almost imperceptible cloud passing across his
brow. "But, my dear count, has M. Danglars any reason?"

"Ah, there is your proud and selfish nature. You would
expose the self-love of another with a hatchet, but you
shrink if your own is attacked with a needle."

"But yet M. Danglars appeared" --

"Delighted with you, was he not? Well, he is a man of bad
taste, and is still more enchanted with another. I know not
whom; look and judge for yourself."

"Thank you, I understand. But my mother -- no, not my
mother; I mistake -- my father intends giving a ball."

"A ball at this season?"

"Summer balls are fashionable."

"If they were not, the countess has only to wish it, and
they would become so."

"You are right; You know they are select affairs; those who
remain in Paris in July must be true Parisians. Will you
take charge of our invitation to Messieurs Cavalcanti?"

"When will it take place?"

"On Saturday."

"M. Cavalcanti's father will be gone."

"But the son will be here; will you invite young M.
Cavalcanti?"

"I do not know him, viscount."

"You do not know him?"

"No, I never saw him until a few days since, and am not
responsible for him."

"But you receive him at your house?"

"That is another thing: he was recommended to me by a good
abbe, who may be deceived. Give him a direct invitation, but
do not ask me to present him. If he were afterwards to marry
Mademoiselle Danglars, you would accuse me of intrigue, and
would be challenging me, -- besides, I may not be there
myself."

"Where?"

"At your ball."

"Why should you not be there?"

"Because you have not yet invited me."

"But I come expressly for that purpose."

"You are very kind, but I may be prevented."

"If I tell you one thing, you will be so amiable as to set
aside all impediments."

"Tell me what it is."

"My mother begs you to come."

"The Comtesse de Morcerf?" said Monte Cristo, starting.

"Ah, count," said Albert, "I assure you Madame de Morcerf
speaks freely to me, and if you have not felt those
sympathetic fibres of which I spoke just now thrill within
you, you must be entirely devoid of them, for during the
last four days we have spoken of no one else."

"You have talked of me?"

"Yes, that is the penalty of being a living puzzle!"

"Then I am also a puzzle to your mother? I should have
thought her too reasonable to be led by imagination."

"A problem, my dear count, for every one -- for my mother as
well as others; much studied, but not solved, you still
remain an enigma, do not fear. My mother is only astonished
that you remain so long unsolved. I believe, while the
Countess G---- takes you for Lord Ruthven, my mother
imagines you to be Cagliostro or the Count Saint-Germain.
The first opportunity you have, confirm her in her opinion;
it will be easy for you, as you have the philosophy of the
one and the wit of the other."

"I thank you for the warning," said the count; "I shall
endeavor to be prepared for all suppositions."

"You will, then, come on Saturday?"

"Yes, since Madame de Morcerf invites me."

"You are very kind."

"Will M. Danglars be there?"

"He has already been invited by my father. We shall try to
persuade the great d'Aguesseau,* M. de Villefort, to come,
but have not much hope of seeing him."

"`Never despair of anything,' says the proverb."

* Magistrate and orator of great eloquence -- chancellor of
France under Louis XV.

"Do you dance, count?"

"I dance?"

"Yes, you; it would not be astonishing."

"That is very well before one is over forty. No, I do not
dance, but I like to see others do so. Does Madame de
Morcerf dance?"

"Never; you can talk to her, she so delights in your
conversation."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, truly; and I assure you. You are the only man of whom
I have heard her speak with interest." Albert rose and took
his hat; the count conducted him to the door. "I have one
thing to reproach myself with," said he, stopping Albert on
the steps. "What is it?"

"I have spoken to you indiscreetly about Danglars."

"On the contrary, speak to me always in the same strain
about him."

"I am glad to be reassured on that point. Apropos, when do
you aspect M. d'Epinay?"

"Five or six days hence at the latest."

"And when is he to be married?"

"Immediately on the arrival of M. and Madame de
Saint-Meran."

"Bring him to see me. Although you say I do not like him, I
assure you I shall be happy to see him."

"I will obey your orders, my lord."

"Good-by."

"Until Saturday, when I may expect you, may I not?"

"Yes, I promised you." The Count watched Albert, waving his
hand to him. When he had mounted his phaeton, Monte Cristo
turned, and seeing Bertuccio, "What news?" said he. "She
went to the Palais," replied the steward.

"Did she stay long there?"

"An hour and a half."

"Did she return home?"

"Directly."

"Well, my dear Bertuccio," said the count, "I now advise you
to go in quest of the little estate I spoke to you of in
Normandy." Bertuccio bowed, and as his wishes were in
perfect harmony with the order he had received, he started
the same evening.

Chapter 69
The Inquiry.

M. de Villefort kept the promise he had made to Madame
Danglars, to endeavor to find out how the Count of Monte
Cristo had discovered the history of the house at Auteuil.
He wrote the same day for the required information to M. de
Boville, who, from having been an inspector of prisons, was
promoted to a high office in the police; and the latter
begged for two days time to ascertain exactly who would be
most likely to give him full particulars. At the end of the
second day M. de Villefort received the following note: --

"The person called the Count of Monte Cristo is an intimate
acquaintance of Lord Wilmore, a rich foreigner, who is
sometimes seen in Paris and who is there at this moment; he
is also known to the Abbe Busoni, a Sicilian priest, of high
repute in the East, where he has done much good."

M. de Villefort replied by ordering the strictest inquiries
to be made respecting these two persons; his orders were
executed, and the following evening he received these
details: --

"The abbe, who was in Paris only for a month, inhabited a
small two-storied house behind Saint-Sulpice; there were two
rooms on each floor and he was the only tenant. The two
lower rooms consisted of a dining-room, with a table,
chairs, and side-board of walnut, -- and a wainscoted
parlor, without ornaments, carpet, or timepiece. It was
evident that the abbe limited himself to objects of strict
necessity. He preferred to use the sitting-room upstairs,
which was more library than parlor, and was furnished with
theological books and parchments, in which he delighted to
bury himself for months at a time, according to his valet de
chambre. His valet looked at the visitors through a sort of
wicket; and if their faces were unknown to him or displeased
him, he replied that the abbe was not in Paris, an answer
which satisfied most persons, because the abbe was known to
be a great traveller. Besides, whether at home or not,
whether in Paris or Cairo, the abbe always left something to
give away, which the valet distributed through this wicket
in his master's name. The other room near the library was a
bedroom. A bed without curtains, four arm-chairs, and a
couch, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, composed, with a
prie-Dieu, all its furniture. Lord Wilmore resided in Rue
Fontaine-Saint-George. He was one of those English tourists
who consume a large fortune in travelling. He hired the
apartment in which he lived furnished, passed only a few
hours in the day there, and rarely slept there. One of his
peculiarities was never to speak a word of French, which he
however wrote with great facility."

The day after this important information had been given to
the king's attorney, a man alighted from a carriage at the
corner of the Rue Ferou, and rapping at an olive-green door,
asked if the Abbe Busoni were within. "No, he went out early
this morning," replied the valet.

"I might not always be content with that answer," replied
the visitor, "for I come from one to whom everyone must be
at home. But have the kindness to give the Abbe Busoni" --

"I told you he was not at home," repeated the valet. "Then
on his return give him that card and this sealed paper. Will
he be at home at eight o'clock this evening?"

"Doubtless, unless he is at work, which is the same as if he
were out."

"I will come again at that time," replied the visitor, who
then retired.

At the appointed hour the same man returned in the same
carriage, which, instead of stopping this time at the end of
the Rue Ferou, drove up to the green door. He knocked, and
it opened immediately to admit him. From the signs of
respect the valet paid him, he saw that his note had
produced a good effect. "Is the abbe at home?" asked he.

"Yes; he is at work in his library, but he expects you,
sir," replied the valet. The stranger ascended a rough
staircase, and before a table, illumined by a lamp whose
light was concentrated by a large shade while the rest of
the apartment was in partial darkness, he perceived the abbe
in a monk's dress, with a cowl on his head such as was used
by learned men of the Middle Ages. "Have I the honor of
addressing the Abbe Busoni?" asked the visitor.

"Yes, sir," replied the abbe; "and you are the person whom
M. de Boville, formerly an inspector of prisons, sends to me
from the prefect of police?"