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
