The Count of Monte Cristo
“He called himself Vampa. You see, it’s evident where the count got the
name.”
“But what could have been his motive for sending the cup to me?”
“In the first place, because I had spoken much of you to him, as you
may believe; and in the second, because he delighted to see a
countrywoman take so lively an interest in his success.”
“I trust and hope you never repeated to the count all the foolish
remarks we used to make about him?”
“I should not like to affirm upon oath that I have not. Besides, his
presenting you the cup under the name of Lord Ruthven——”
“Oh, but that is dreadful! Why, the man must owe me a fearful grudge.”
“Does his action appear like that of an enemy?”
“No; certainly not.”
“Well, then——”
“And so he is in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“And what effect does he produce?”
“Why,” said Albert, “he was talked about for a week; then the
coronation of the queen of England took place, followed by the theft of
Mademoiselle Mars’s diamonds; and so people talked of something else.”
“My good fellow,” said Château-Renaud, “the count is your friend and
you treat him accordingly. Do not believe what Albert is telling you,
countess; so far from the sensation excited in the Parisian circles by
the appearance of the Count of Monte Cristo having abated, I take upon
myself to declare that it is as strong as ever. His first astounding
act upon coming amongst us was to present a pair of horses, worth
32,000 francs, to Madame Danglars; his second, the almost miraculous
preservation of Madame de Villefort’s life; now it seems that he has
carried off the prize awarded by the Jockey Club. I therefore maintain,
in spite of Morcerf, that not only is the count the object of interest
at this present moment, but also that he will continue to be so for a
month longer if he pleases to exhibit an eccentricity of conduct which,
after all, may be his ordinary mode of existence.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Morcerf; “meanwhile, who is in the
Russian ambassador’s box?”
“Which box do you mean?” asked the countess.
“The one between the pillars on the first tier—it seems to have been
fitted up entirely afresh.”
“Did you observe anyone during the first act?” asked Château-Renaud.
“Where?”
“In that box.”
“No,” replied the countess, “it was certainly empty during the first
act;” then, resuming the subject of their previous conversation, she
said, “And so you really believe it was your mysterious Count of Monte
Cristo that gained the prize?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And who afterwards sent the cup to me?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But I don’t know him,” said the countess; “I have a great mind to
return it.”
“Do no such thing, I beg of you; he would only send you another, formed
of a magnificent sapphire, or hollowed out of a gigantic ruby. It is
his way, and you must take him as you find him.”
At this moment the bell rang to announce the drawing up of the curtain
for the second act. Albert rose to return to his place.
“Shall I see you again?” asked the countess.
“At the end of the next act, with your permission, I will come and
inquire whether there is anything I can do for you in Paris?”
“Pray take notice,” said the countess, “that my present residence is 22
Rue de Rivoli, and that I am at home to my friends every Saturday
evening. So now, you are both forewarned.”
The young men bowed, and quitted the box. Upon reaching their stalls,
they found the whole of the audience in the parterre standing up and
directing their gaze towards the box formerly possessed by the Russian
ambassador. A man of from thirty-five to forty years of age, dressed in
deep black, had just entered, accompanied by a young woman dressed
after the Eastern style. The lady was surpassingly beautiful, while the
rich magnificence of her attire drew all eyes upon her.
“Hullo,” said Albert; “it is Monte Cristo and his Greek!”
The strangers were, indeed, no other than the count and Haydée. In a
few moments the young girl had attracted the attention of the whole
house, and even the occupants of the boxes leaned forward to scrutinize
her magnificent diamonds.
The second act passed away during one continued buzz of voices—one deep
whisper—intimating that some great and universally interesting event
had occurred; all eyes, all thoughts, were occupied with the young and
beautiful woman, whose gorgeous apparel and splendid jewels made a most
extraordinary spectacle.
Upon this occasion an unmistakable sign from Madame Danglars intimated
her desire to see Albert in her box directly the curtain fell on the
second act, and neither the politeness nor good taste of Morcerf would
permit his neglecting an invitation so unequivocally given. At the
close of the act he therefore went to the baroness.
Having bowed to the two ladies, he extended his hand to Debray. By the
baroness he was most graciously welcomed, while Eugénie received him
with her accustomed coldness.
“My dear fellow,” said Debray, “you have come in the nick of time.
There is madame overwhelming me with questions respecting the count;
she insists upon it that I can tell her his birth, education, and
parentage, where he came from, and whither he is going. Being no
disciple of Cagliostro, I was wholly unable to do this; so, by way of
getting out of the scrape, I said, ‘Ask Morcerf; he has got the whole
history of his beloved Monte Cristo at his fingers’ ends;’ whereupon
the baroness signified her desire to see you.”
“Is it not almost incredible,” said Madame Danglars, “that a person
having at least half a million of secret-service money at his command,
should possess so little information?”
“Let me assure you, madame,” said Lucien, “that had I really the sum
you mention at my disposal, I would employ it more profitably than in
troubling myself to obtain particulars respecting the Count of Monte
Cristo, whose only merit in my eyes consists in his being twice as rich
as a nabob. However, I have turned the business over to Morcerf, so
pray settle it with him as may be most agreeable to you; for my own
part, I care nothing about the count or his mysterious doings.”
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“I am very sure no nabob would have sent me a pair of horses worth
32,000 francs, wearing on their heads four diamonds valued at 5,000
francs each.”
“He seems to have a mania for diamonds,” said Morcerf, smiling, “and I
verily believe that, like Potemkin, he keeps his pockets filled, for
the sake of strewing them along the road, as Tom Thumb did his flint
stones.”
“Perhaps he has discovered some mine,” said Madame Danglars. “I suppose
you know he has an order for unlimited credit on the baron’s banking
establishment?”
“I was not aware of it,” replied Albert, “but I can readily believe
it.”
“And, further, that he stated to M. Danglars his intention of only
staying a year in Paris, during which time he proposed to spend six
millions.
“He must be the Shah of Persia, travelling _incog_.”
“Have you noticed the remarkable beauty of the young woman, M. Lucien?”
inquired Eugénie.
“I really never met with one woman so ready to do justice to the charms
of another as yourself,” responded Lucien, raising his lorgnette to his
eye. “A most lovely creature, upon my soul!” was his verdict.
“Who is this young person, M. de Morcerf?” inquired Eugénie; “does
anybody know?”
“Mademoiselle,” said Albert, replying to this direct appeal, “I can
give you very exact information on that subject, as well as on most
points relative to the mysterious person of whom we are now
conversing—the young woman is a Greek.”
“So I should suppose by her dress; if you know no more than that,
everyone here is as well-informed as yourself.”
“I am extremely sorry you find me so ignorant a _cicerone_,” replied
Morcerf, “but I am reluctantly obliged to confess, I have nothing
further to communicate—yes, stay, I do know one thing more, namely,
that she is a musician, for one day when I chanced to be breakfasting
with the count, I heard the sound of a guzla—it is impossible that it
could have been touched by any other finger than her own.”
“Then your count entertains visitors, does he?” asked Madame Danglars.
“Indeed he does, and in a most lavish manner, I can assure you.”
“I must try and persuade M. Danglars to invite him to a ball or dinner,
or something of the sort, that he may be compelled to ask us in
return.”
“What,” said Debray, laughing; “do you really mean you would go to his
house?”
“Why not? my husband could accompany me.”
“But do you know this mysterious count is a bachelor?”
“You have ample proof to the contrary, if you look opposite,” said the
baroness, as she laughingly pointed to the beautiful Greek.
“No, no!” exclaimed Debray; “that girl is not his wife: he told us
himself she was his slave. Do you not recollect, Morcerf, his telling
us so at your breakfast?”
“Well, then,” said the baroness, “if slave she be, she has all the air
and manner of a princess.”
“Of the ‘Arabian Nights’.”
“If you like; but tell me, my dear Lucien, what it is that constitutes
a princess. Why, diamonds—and she is covered with them.”
“To me she seems overloaded,” observed Eugénie; “she would look far
better if she wore fewer, and we should then be able to see her finely
formed throat and wrists.”
“See how the artist peeps out!” exclaimed Madame Danglars. “My poor
Eugénie, you must conceal your passion for the fine arts.”
“I admire all that is beautiful,” returned the young lady.
“What do you think of the count?” inquired Debray; “he is not much
amiss, according to my ideas of good looks.”
“The count,” repeated Eugénie, as though it had not occurred to her to
observe him sooner; “the count?—oh, he is so dreadfully pale.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Morcerf; “and the secret of that very
pallor is what we want to find out. The Countess G—— insists upon it
that he is a vampire.”
“Then the Countess G—— has returned to Paris, has she?” inquired the
baroness.
“Is that she, mamma?” asked Eugénie; “almost opposite to us, with that
profusion of beautiful light hair?”
“Yes,” said Madame Danglars, “that is she. Shall I tell you what you
ought to do, Morcerf?”
“Command me, madame.”
“Well, then, you should go and bring your Count of Monte Cristo to us.”
“What for?” asked Eugénie.
“What for? Why, to converse with him, of course. Have you really no
desire to meet him?”
“None whatever,” replied Eugénie.
“Strange child,” murmured the baroness.
“He will very probably come of his own accord,” said Morcerf. “There;
do you see, madame, he recognizes you, and bows.”
The baroness returned the salute in the most smiling and graceful
manner.
“Well,” said Morcerf, “I may as well be magnanimous, and tear myself
away to forward your wishes. Adieu; I will go and try if there are any
means of speaking to him.”
“Go straight to his box; that will be the simplest plan.”
“But I have never been presented.”
“Presented to whom?”
“To the beautiful Greek.”
“You say she is only a slave?”
“While you assert that she is a queen, or at least a princess. No; I
hope that when he sees me leave you, he will come out.”
“That is possible—go.”
“I am going,” said Albert, as he made his parting bow.
Just as he was passing the count’s box, the door opened, and Monte
Cristo came forth. After giving some directions to Ali, who stood in
the lobby, the count took Albert’s arm. Carefully closing the box door,
Ali placed himself before it, while a crowd of spectators assembled
round the Nubian.
“Upon my word,” said Monte Cristo, “Paris is a strange city, and the
Parisians a very singular people. See that cluster of persons collected
around poor Ali, who is as much astonished as themselves; really one
might suppose he was the only Nubian they had ever beheld. Now I can