say, "Thank you, my child," nor did the daughter smile at her father.
"Is the conference ended?" asked Eugenie, rising. Danglars motioned that
he had nothing more to say. Five minutes afterwards the piano resounded
to the touch of Mademoiselle d'Armilly's fingers, and Mademoiselle
Danglars was singing Brabantio's malediction on Desdemona. At the end of
the piece Etienne entered, and announced to Eugenie that the horses were
in the carriage, and that the baroness was waiting for her to pay her
visits. We have seen them at Villefort's; they proceeded then on their
course.
Chapter 96. The Contract.
Three days after the scene we have just described, namely towards five
o'clock in the afternoon of the day fixed for the signature of
the contract between Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars and Andrea
Cavalcanti,--whom the banker persisted in calling prince,--a fresh
breeze was stirring the leaves in the little garden in front of the
Count of Monte Cristo's house, and the count was preparing to go out.
While his horses were impatiently pawing the ground,--held in by the
coachman, who had been seated a quarter of an hour on his box,--the
elegant phaeton with which we are familiar rapidly turned the angle of
the entrance-gate, and cast out on the doorsteps M. Andrea Cavalcanti,
as decked up and gay as if he were going to marry a princess. He
inquired after the count with his usual familiarity, and ascending
lightly to the second story met him at the top of the stairs. The count
stopped on seeing the young man. As for Andrea, he was launched, and
when he was once launched nothing stopped him. "Ah, good morning,
my dear count," said he. "Ah, M. Andrea," said the latter, with his
half-jesting tone; "how do you do."
"Charmingly, as you see. I am come to talk to you about a thousand
things; but, first tell me, were you going out or just returned?"
"I was going out, sir."
"Then, in order not to hinder you, I will get up with you if you please
in your carriage, and Tom shall follow with my phaeton in tow."
"No," said the count, with an imperceptible smile of contempt, for
he had no wish to be seen in the young man's society,--"no; I prefer
listening to you here, my dear M. Andrea; we can chat better in-doors,
and there is no coachman to overhear our conversation." The count
returned to a small drawing-room on the first floor, sat down, and
crossing his legs motioned to the young man to take a seat also. Andrea
assumed his gayest manner. "You know, my dear count," said he, "the
ceremony is to take place this evening. At nine o'clock the contract is
to be signed at my father-in-law's."
"Ah, indeed?" said Monte Cristo.
"What; is it news to you? Has not M. Danglars informed you of the
ceremony?"
"Oh, yes," said the count; "I received a letter from him yesterday, but
I do not think the hour was mentioned."
"Possibly my father-in-law trusted to its general notoriety."
"Well," said Monte Cristo, "you are fortunate, M. Cavalcanti; it is a
most suitable alliance you are contracting, and Mademoiselle Danglars is
a handsome girl."
"Yes, indeed she is," replied Cavalcanti, in a very modest tone.
"Above all, she is very rich,--at least, I believe so," said Monte
Cristo.
"Very rich, do you think?" replied the young man.
"Doubtless; it is said M. Danglars conceals at least half of his
fortune."
"And he acknowledges fifteen or twenty millions," said Andrea with a
look sparkling with joy.
"Without reckoning," added Monte Cristo, "that he is on the eve of
entering into a sort of speculation already in vogue in the United
States and in England, but quite novel in France."
"Yes, yes, I know what you mean,--the railway, of which he has obtained
the grant, is it not?"
"Precisely; it is generally believed he will gain ten millions by that
affair."
"Ten millions! Do you think so? It is magnificent!" said Cavalcanti,
who was quite confounded at the metallic sound of these golden words.
"Without reckoning," replied Monte Cristo, "that all his fortune will
come to you, and justly too, since Mademoiselle Danglars is an only
daughter. Besides, your own fortune, as your father assured me, is
almost equal to that of your betrothed. But enough of money matters.
Do you know, M. Andrea, I think you have managed this affair rather
skilfully?"
"Not badly, by any means," said the young man; "I was born for a
diplomatist."
"Well, you must become a diplomatist; diplomacy, you know, is something
that is not to be acquired; it is instinctive. Have you lost your
heart?"
"Indeed, I fear it," replied Andrea, in the tone in which he had heard
Dorante or Valere reply to Alceste [*] at the Theatre Francais.
"Is your love returned?"
* In Moliere's comedy, Le Misanthrope.
"I suppose so," said Andrea with a triumphant smile, "since I am
accepted. But I must not forget one grand point."
"Which?"
"That I have been singularly assisted."
"Nonsense."
"I have, indeed."
"By circumstances?"
"No; by you."
"By me? Not at all, prince," said Monte Cristo laying a marked stress
on the title, "what have I done for you? Are not your name, your social
position, and your merit sufficient?"
"No," said Andrea,--"no; it is useless for you to say so, count. I
maintain that the position of a man like you has done more than my name,
my social position, and my merit."
"You are completely mistaken, sir," said Monte Cristo coldly, who felt
the perfidious manoeuvre of the young man, and understood the bearing
of his words; "you only acquired my protection after the influence
and fortune of your father had been ascertained; for, after all, who
procured for me, who had never seen either you or your illustrious
father, the pleasure of your acquaintance?--two of my good friends,
Lord Wilmore and the Abbe Busoni. What encouraged me not to become your
surety, but to patronize you?--your father's name, so well known in
Italy and so highly honored. Personally, I do not know you." This calm
tone and perfect ease made Andrea feel that he was, for the moment,
restrained by a more muscular hand than his own, and that the restraint
could not be easily broken through.
"Oh, then my father has really a very large fortune, count?"
"It appears so, sir," replied Monte Cristo.
"Do you know if the marriage settlement he promised me has come?"
"I have been advised of it."
"But the three millions?"
"The three millions are probably on the road."
"Then I shall really have them?"
"Oh, well," said the count, "I do not think you have yet known the want
of money." Andrea was so surprised that he pondered the matter for a
moment. Then, arousing from his revery,--"Now, sir, I have one request
to make to you, which you will understand, even if it should be
disagreeable to you."
"Proceed," said Monte Cristo.
"I have formed an acquaintance, thanks to my good fortune, with many
noted persons, and have, at least for the moment, a crowd of friends.
But marrying, as I am about to do, before all Paris, I ought to be
supported by an illustrious name, and in the absence of the paternal
hand some powerful one ought to lead me to the altar; now, my father is
not coming to Paris, is he? He is old, covered with wounds, and suffers
dreadfully, he says, in travelling."
"Indeed?"
"Well, I am come to ask a favor of you."
"Of me?"
"Yes, of you."
"And pray what may it be?"
"Well, to take his part."
"Ah, my dear sir! What?--after the varied relations I have had the
happiness to sustain towards you, can it be that you know me so little
as to ask such a thing? Ask me to lend you half a million and, although
such a loan is somewhat rare, on my honor, you would annoy me less!
Know, then, what I thought I had already told you, that in participation
in this world's affairs, more especially in their moral aspects, the
Count of Monte Cristo has never ceased to entertain the scruples and
even the superstitions of the East. I, who have a seraglio at Cairo, one
at Smyrna, and one at Constantinople, preside at a wedding?--never!"
"Then you refuse me?"
"Decidedly; and were you my son or my brother I would refuse you in the
same way."
"But what must be done?" said Andrea, disappointed.
"You said just now that you had a hundred friends."
"Very true, but you introduced me at M. Danglars'."
"Not at all! Let us recall the exact facts. You met him at a dinner
party at my house, and you introduced yourself at his house; that is a
totally different affair."
"Yes, but, by my marriage, you have forwarded that."
"I?--not in the least, I beg you to believe. Recollect what I told you
when you asked me to propose you. 'Oh, I never make matches, my dear
prince, it is my settled principle.'" Andrea bit his lips.
"But, at least, you will be there?"
"Will all Paris be there?"
"Oh, certainly."
"Well, like all Paris, I shall be there too," said the count.
"And will you sign the contract?"
"I see no objection to that; my scruples do not go thus far."
"Well, since you will grant me no more, I must be content with what you
give me. But one word more, count."
"What is it?"
"Advice."
"Be careful; advice is worse than a service."
"Oh, you can give me this without compromising yourself."
"Tell me what it is."
"Is my wife's fortune five hundred thousand livres?"
"That is the sum M. Danglars himself announced."
"Must I receive it, or leave it in the hands of the notary?"
"This is the way such affairs are generally arranged when it is wished
to do them stylishly: Your two solicitors appoint a meeting, when
the contract is signed, for the next or the following day; then they
exchange the two portions, for which they each give a receipt; then,
when the marriage is celebrated, they place the amount at your disposal
as the chief member of the alliance."
"Because," said Andrea, with a certain ill-concealed uneasiness, "I
thought I heard my father-in-law say that he intended embarking our
property in that famous railway affair of which you spoke just now."
"Well," replied Monte Cristo, "it will be the way, everybody says, of
trebling your fortune in twelve months. Baron Danglars is a good father,
and knows how to calculate."
"In that case," said Andrea, "everything is all right, excepting your
refusal, which quite grieves me."
"You must attribute it only to natural scruples under similar
circumstances."
"Well," said Andrea, "let it be as you wish. This evening, then, at nine
o'clock."
"Adieu till then." Notwithstanding a slight resistance on the part of
Monte Cristo, whose lips turned pale, but who preserved his ceremonious
smile, Andrea seized the count's hand, pressed it, jumped into his
phaeton, and disappeared.
The four or five remaining hours before nine o'clock arrived, Andrea
employed in riding, paying visits,--designed to induce those of whom
he had spoken to appear at the banker's in their gayest
equipages,--dazzling them by promises of shares in schemes which have
since turned every brain, and in which Danglars was just taking the
initiative. In fact, at half-past eight in the evening the grand salon,
the gallery adjoining, and the three other drawing-rooms on the same
floor, were filled with a perfumed crowd, who sympathized but little
in the event, but who all participated in that love of being present
wherever there is anything fresh to be seen. An Academician would say
that the entertainments of the fashionable world are collections of
flowers which attract inconstant butterflies, famished bees, and buzzing
drones.
No one could deny that the rooms were splendidly illuminated; the light
streamed forth on the gilt mouldings and the silk hangings; and all the
bad taste of decorations, which had only their richness to boast of,
shone in its splendor. Mademoiselle Eugenie was dressed with elegant
simplicity in a figured white silk dress, and a white rose half
concealed in her jet black hair was her only ornament, unaccompanied
by a single jewel. Her eyes, however, betrayed that perfect confidence
which contradicted the girlish simplicity of this modest attire. Madame
Danglars was chatting at a short distance with Debray, Beauchamp, and
Chateau-Renaud.
Debray was admitted to the house for this grand ceremony, but on the
same plane with every one else, and without any particular privilege. M.
Danglars, surrounded by deputies and men connected with the revenue, was
explaining a new theory of taxation which he intended to adopt when
the course of events had compelled the government to call him into the
ministry. Andrea, on whose arm hung one of the most consummate dandies
of the opera, was explaining to him rather cleverly, since he was
obliged to be bold to appear at ease, his future projects, and the new
luxuries he meant to introduce to Parisian fashions with his hundred and
seventy-five thousand livres per annum.
The crowd moved to and fro in the rooms like an ebb and flow of
turquoises, rubies, emeralds, opals, and diamonds. As usual, the oldest
women were the most decorated, and the ugliest the most conspicuous. If
