little for the questions of time in conjunctures of importance."
"Yet conscience remains," remarked Madame de Villefort in an agitated
voice, and with a stifled sigh.
"Yes," answered Monte Cristo "happily, yes, conscience does remain; and
if it did not, how wretched we should be! After every action requiring
exertion, it is conscience that saves us, for it supplies us with a
thousand good excuses, of which we alone are judges; and these reasons,
howsoever excellent in producing sleep, would avail us but very little
before a tribunal, when we were tried for our lives. Thus Richard
III., for instance, was marvellously served by his conscience after the
putting away of the two children of Edward IV.; in fact, he could say,
'These two children of a cruel and persecuting king, who have inherited
the vices of their father, which I alone could perceive in their
juvenile propensities--these two children are impediments in my way of
promoting the happiness of the English people, whose unhappiness they
(the children) would infallibly have caused.' Thus was Lady Macbeth
served by her conscience, when she sought to give her son, and not her
husband (whatever Shakespeare may say), a throne. Ah, maternal love is a
great virtue, a powerful motive--so powerful that it excuses a multitude
of things, even if, after Duncan's death, Lady Macbeth had been at all
pricked by her conscience."
Madame de Villefort listened with avidity to these appalling maxims and
horrible paradoxes, delivered by the count with that ironical simplicity
which was peculiar to him. After a moment's silence, the lady inquired,
"Do you know, my dear count," she said, "that you are a very terrible
reasoner, and that you look at the world through a somewhat distempered
medium? Have you really measured the world by scrutinies, or through
alembics and crucibles? For you must indeed be a great chemist, and the
elixir you administered to my son, which recalled him to life almost
instantaneously"--
"Oh, do not place any reliance on that, madame; one drop of that elixir
sufficed to recall life to a dying child, but three drops would have
impelled the blood into his lungs in such a way as to have produced
most violent palpitations; six would have suspended his respiration, and
caused syncope more serious than that in which he was; ten would have
destroyed him. You know, madame, how suddenly I snatched him from those
phials which he so imprudently touched?"
"Is it then so terrible a poison?"
"Oh, no. In the first place, let us agree that the word poison does
not exist, because in medicine use is made of the most violent poisons,
which become, according as they are employed, most salutary remedies."
"What, then, is it?"
"A skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abbe Adelmonte, who
taught me the use of it."
"Oh," observed Madame de Villefort, "it must be an admirable
anti-spasmodic."
"Perfect, madame, as you have seen," replied the count; "and I
frequently make use of it--with all possible prudence though, be it
observed," he added with a smile of intelligence.
"Most assuredly," responded Madame de Villefort in the same tone. "As
for me, so nervous, and so subject to fainting fits, I should require
a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of breathing freely and
tranquillizing my mind, in the fear I have of dying some fine day of
suffocation. In the meanwhile, as the thing is difficult to find in
France, and your abbe is not probably disposed to make a journey
to Paris on my account, I must continue to use Monsieur Planche's
anti-spasmodics; and mint and Hoffman's drops are among my favorite
remedies. Here are some lozenges which I have made up on purpose; they
are compounded doubly strong." Monte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell
box, which the lady presented to him, and inhaled the odor of the
lozenges with the air of an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their
composition. "They are indeed exquisite," he said; "but as they are
necessarily submitted to the process of deglutition--a function which it
is frequently impossible for a fainting person to accomplish--I prefer
my own specific."
"Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I have seen
produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am not so indiscreet as to
ask it of you."
"But I," said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke--"I am gallant enough to
offer it you."
"How kind you are."
"Only remember one thing--a small dose is a remedy, a large one is
poison. One drop will restore life, as you have seen; five or six will
inevitably kill, and in a way the more terrible inasmuch as, poured into
a glass of wine, it would not in the slightest degree affect its flavor.
But I say no more, madame; it is really as if I were prescribing for
you." The clock struck half-past six, and a lady was announced, a friend
of Madame de Villefort, who came to dine with her.
"If I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or fourth time,
count, instead of only for the second," said Madame de Villefort; "if
I had had the honor of being your friend, instead of only having the
happiness of being under an obligation to you, I should insist on
detaining you to dinner, and not allow myself to be daunted by a first
refusal."
"A thousand thanks, madame," replied Monte Cristo "but I have an
engagement which I cannot break. I have promised to escort to the
Academie a Greek princess of my acquaintance who has never seen your
grand opera, and who relies on me to conduct her thither."
"Adieu, then, sir, and do not forget the prescription."
"Ah, in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's conversation
I have had with you, which is indeed impossible." Monte Cristo bowed,
and left the house. Madame de Villefort remained immersed in thought.
"He is a very strange man," she said, "and in my opinion is himself the
Adelmonte he talks about." As to Monte Cristo the result had surpassed
his utmost expectations. "Good," said he, as he went away; "this is a
fruitful soil, and I feel certain that the seed sown will not be cast
on barren ground." Next morning, faithful to his promise, he sent the
prescription requested.
Chapter 53. Robert le Diable.
The pretext of an opera engagement was so much the more feasible, as
there chanced to be on that very night a more than ordinary attraction
at the Academie Royale. Levasseur, who had been suffering under severe
illness, made his reappearance in the character of Bertrand, and, as
usual, the announcement of the most admired production of the favorite
composer of the day had attracted a brilliant and fashionable audience.
Morcerf, like most other young men of rank and fortune, had his
orchestra stall, with the certainty of always finding a seat in at least
a dozen of the principal boxes occupied by persons of his acquaintance;
he had, moreover, his right of entry into the omnibus box.
Chateau-Renaud rented a stall beside his own, while Beauchamp, as a
journalist, had unlimited range all over the theatre. It happened that
on this particular night the minister's box was placed at the disposal
of Lucien Debray, who offered it to the Comte de Morcerf, who again,
upon his mother's rejection of it, sent it to Danglars, with an
intimation that he should probably do himself the honor of joining the
baroness and her daughter during the evening, in the event of their
accepting the box in question. The ladies received the offer with too
much pleasure to dream of a refusal. To no class of persons is the
presentation of a gratuitous opera-box more acceptable than to the
wealthy millionaire, who still hugs economy while boasting of carrying a
king's ransom in his waistcoat pocket.
Danglars had, however, protested against showing himself in a
ministerial box, declaring that his political principles, and his
parliamentary position as member of the opposition party would not
permit him so to commit himself; the baroness had, therefore, despatched
a note to Lucien Debray, bidding him call for them, it being wholly
impossible for her to go alone with Eugenie to the opera. There is no
gainsaying the fact that a very unfavorable construction would have
been put upon the circumstance if the two women had gone without escort,
while the addition of a third, in the person of her mother's admitted
lover, enabled Mademoiselle Danglars to defy malice and ill-nature. One
must take the world as one finds it.
The curtain rose, as usual, to an almost empty house, it being one of
the absurdities of Parisian fashion never to appear at the opera
until after the beginning of the performance, so that the first act is
generally played without the slightest attention being paid to it,
that part of the audience already assembled being too much occupied in
observing the fresh arrivals, while nothing is heard but the noise of
opening and shutting doors, and the buzz of conversation. "Surely," said
Albert, as the door of a box on the first circle opened, "that must be
the Countess G----."
"And who is the Countess G----?" inquired Chateau-Renaud.
"What a question! Now, do you know, baron, I have a great mind to pick a
quarrel with you for asking it; as if all the world did not know who the
Countess G---- was."
"Ah, to be sure," replied Chateau-Renaud; "the lovely Venetian, is it
not?"
"Herself." At this moment the countess perceived Albert, and
returned his salutation with a smile. "You know her, it seems?" said
Chateau-Renaud.
"Franz introduced me to her at Rome," replied Albert.
"Well, then, will you do as much for me in Paris as Franz did for you in
Rome?"
"With pleasure."
There was a cry of "Shut up!" from the audience. This manifestation
on the part of the spectators of their wish to be allowed to hear the
music, produced not the slightest effect on the two young men, who
continued their conversation. "The countess was present at the races in
the Champ-de-Mars," said Chateau-Renaud.
"To-day?"
"Yes."
"Bless me, I quite forgot the races. Did you bet?"
"Oh, merely a paltry fifty louis."
"And who was the winner?"
"Nautilus. I staked on him."
"But there were three races, were there not?"
"Yes; there was the prize given by the Jockey Club--a gold cup, you
know--and a very singular circumstance occurred about that race."
"What was it?"
"Oh, shut up!" again interposed some of the audience.
"Why, it was won by a horse and rider utterly unknown on the course."
"Is that possible?"
"True as day. The fact was, nobody had observed a horse entered by the
name of Vampa, or that of a jockey styled Job, when, at the last
moment, a splendid roan, mounted by a jockey about as big as your fist,
presented themselves at the starting-post. They were obliged to stuff at
least twenty pounds weight of shot in the small rider's pockets, to make
him weight; but with all that he outstripped Ariel and Barbare, against
whom he ran, by at least three whole lengths."
"And was it not found out at last to whom the horse and jockey
belonged?"
"No."
"You say that the horse was entered under the name of Vampa?"
"Exactly; that was the title."
"Then," answered Albert, "I am better informed than you are, and know
who the owner of that horse was."
"Shut up, there!" cried the pit in chorus. And this time the tone and
manner in which the command was given, betokened such growing hostility
that the two young men perceived, for the first time, that the mandate
was addressed to them. Leisurely turning round, they calmly scrutinized
the various countenances around them, as though demanding some one
person who would take upon himself the responsibility of what they
deemed excessive impertinence; but as no one responded to the challenge,
the friends turned again to the front of the theatre, and affected
to busy themselves with the stage. At this moment the door of the
minister's box opened, and Madame Danglars, accompanied by her daughter,
entered, escorted by Lucien Debray, who assiduously conducted them to
their seats.
"Ha, ha," said Chateau-Renaud, "here comes some friends of yours,
viscount! What are you looking at there? don't you see they are trying
to catch your eye?" Albert turned round, just in time to receive a
gracious wave of the fan from the baroness; as for Mademoiselle Eugenie,
she scarcely vouchsafed to waste the glances of her large black eyes
even upon the business of the stage. "I tell you what, my dear fellow,"
said Chateau-Renaud, "I cannot imagine what objection you can possibly
have to Mademoiselle Danglars--that is, setting aside her want of
ancestry and somewhat inferior rank, which by the way I don't think
you care very much about. Now, barring all that, I mean to say she is a
deuced fine girl!"
"Handsome, certainly," replied Albert, "but not to my taste, which I
confess, inclines to something softer, gentler, and more feminine."
"Ah, well," exclaimed Chateau-Renaud, who because he had seen his
thirtieth summer fancied himself duly warranted in assuming a sort of
paternal air with his more youthful friend, "you young people are never
satisfied; why, what would you have more? your parents have chosen you
a bride built on the model of Diana, the huntress, and yet you are not
content."
"No, for that very resemblance affrights me; I should have liked
something more in the manner of the Venus of Milo or Capua; but this
