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. _

Read next: Chapter 69 - The Inquiry

Read previous: Chapter 67 - At the Office of the King's Attorney

Table of content of Count of Monte Cristo


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book