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"What a question!" `
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"Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or `
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poor, if their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds? `
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They seem like poor fishermen, and suddenly they open some `
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mysterious cavern filled with the wealth of the Indies." `
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"Which means?" `
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"Which means that my Count of Monte Cristo is one of those `
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fishermen. He has even a name taken from the book, since he `
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calls himself Sinbad the Sailor, and has a cave filled with `
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gold." `
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"And you have seen this cavern, Morcerf?" asked Beauchamp. `
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"No, but Franz has; for heaven's sake, not a word of this `
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before him. Franz went in with his eyes blindfolded, and was `
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waited on by mutes and by women to whom Cleopatra was a `
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painted strumpet. Only he is not quite sure about the women, `
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for they did not come in until after he had taken hashish, `
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so that what he took for women might have been simply a row `
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of statues." `
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The two young men looked at Morcerf as if to say, -- "Are `
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you mad, or are you laughing at us?" `
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"And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, "have heard `
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something like this from an old sailor named Penelon." `
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"Ah," cried Albert, "it is very lucky that M. Morrel comes `
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to aid me; you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a `
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clew to the labyrinth?" `
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"My dear Albert," said Debray, "what you tell us is so `
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extraordinary." `
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"Ah, because your ambassadors and your consuls do not tell `
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you of them -- they have no time. They are too much taken up `
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with interfering in the affairs of their countrymen who `
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travel." `
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"Now you get angry, and attack our poor agents. How will you `
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have them protect you? The Chamber cuts down their salaries `
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every day, so that now they have scarcely any. Will you be `
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ambassador, Albert? I will send you to Constantinople." `
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"No, lest on the first demonstration I make in favor of `
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Mehemet Ali, the Sultan send me the bowstring, and make my `
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secretaries strangle me." `
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"You say very true," responded Debray. `
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"Yes," said Albert, "but this has nothing to do with the `
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existence of the Count of Monte Cristo." `
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"Pardieu, every one exists." `
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"Doubtless, but not in the same way; every one has not black `
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slaves, a princely retinue, an arsenal of weapons that would `
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do credit to an Arabian fortress, horses that cost six `
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thousand francs apiece, and Greek mistresses." `
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"Have you seen the Greek mistress?" `
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"I have both seen and heard her. I saw her at the theatre, `
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and heard her one morning when I breakfasted with the `
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count." `
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"He eats, then?" `
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"Yes; but so little, it can hardly be called eating." `
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"He must be a vampire." `
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"Laugh, if you will; the Countess G---- , who knew Lord `
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Ruthven, declared that the count was a vampire." `
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"Ah, capital," said Beauchamp. "For a man not connected with `
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newspapers, here is the pendant to the famous sea-serpent of `
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the Constitutionnel." `
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"Wild eyes, the iris of which contracts or dilates at `
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pleasure," said Debray; "facial angle strongly developed, `
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magnificent forehead, livid complexion, black beard, sharp `
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and white teeth, politeness unexceptionable." `
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"Just so, Lucien," returned Morcerf; "you have described him `
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feature for feature. Yes, keen and cutting politeness. This `
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man has often made me shudder; and one day that we were `
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viewing an execution, I thought I should faint, more from `
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hearing the cold and calm manner in which he spoke of every `
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description of torture, than from the sight of the `
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executioner and the culprit." `
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"Did he not conduct you to the ruins of the Colosseum and `
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suck your blood?" asked Beauchamp. `
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"Or, having delivered you, make you sign a flaming `
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parchment, surrendering your soul to him as Esau did his `
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birth-right?" `
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"Rail on, rail on at your ease, gentlemen," said Morcerf, `
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somewhat piqued. "When I look at you Parisians, idlers on `
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the Boulevard de Gand or the Bois de Boulogne, and think of `
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this man, it seems to me we are not of the same race." `
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"I am highly flattered," returned Beauchamp. "At the same `
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time," added Chateau-Renaud, "your Count of Monte Cristo is `
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a very fine fellow, always excepting his little arrangements `
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with the Italian banditti." `
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"There are no Italian banditti," said Debray. `
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"No vampire," cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo" `
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added Debray. "There is half-past ten striking, Albert." `
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"Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to `
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breakfast," continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock `
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had not died away when Germain announced, "His excellency `
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the Count of Monte Cristo." The involuntary start every one `
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gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative had impressed them, `
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and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from manifesting `
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sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the `
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street, or steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself `
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opened noiselessly. The count appeared, dressed with the `
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greatest simplicity, but the most fastidious dandy could `
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have found nothing to cavil at in his toilet. Every article `
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of dress -- hat, coat, gloves, and boots -- was from the `
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first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what `
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struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait `
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Debray had drawn. The count advanced, smiling, into the `
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centre of the room, and approached Albert, who hastened `
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towards him holding out his hand in a ceremonial manner. `
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"Punctuality," said Monte Cristo, "is the politeness of `
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kings, according to one of your sovereigns, I think; but it `
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is not the same with travellers. However, I hope you will `
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excuse the two or three seconds I am behindhand; five `
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hundred leagues are not to be accomplished without some `
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trouble, and especially in France, where, it seems, it is `
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forbidden to beat the postilions." `
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"My dear count," replied Albert, "I was announcing your `
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visit to some of my friends, whom I had invited in `
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consequence of the promise you did me the honor to make, and `
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whom I now present to you. They are the Count of `
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Chateau-Renaud, whose nobility goes back to the twelve `
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peers, and whose ancestors had a place at the Round Table; `
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M. Lucien Debray, private secretary to the minister of the `
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interior; M. Beauchamp, an editor of a paper, and the terror `
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of the French government, but of whom, in spite of his `
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national celebrity, you perhaps have not heard in Italy, `
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since his paper is prohibited there; and M. Maximilian `
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Morrel, captain of Spahis." `
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At this name the count, who had hitherto saluted every one `
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with courtesy, but at the same time with coldness and `
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formality, stepped a pace forward, and a slight tinge of red `
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colored his pale cheeks. "You wear the uniform of the new `
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French conquerors, monsieur," said he; "it is a handsome `
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uniform." No one could have said what caused the count's `
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voice to vibrate so deeply, and what made his eye flash, `
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which was in general so clear, lustrous, and limpid when he `
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pleased. "You have never seen our Africans, count?" said `
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Albert. "Never," replied the count, who was by this time `
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perfectly master of himself again. `
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"Well, beneath this uniform beats one of the bravest and `
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noblest hearts in the whole army." `
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"Oh, M. de Morcerf," interrupted Morrel. `
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"Let me go on, captain. And we have just heard," continued `
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Albert, "of a new deed of his, and so heroic a one, that, `
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although I have seen him to-day for the first time, I `
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request you to allow me to introduce him as my friend." At `
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these words it was still possible to observe in Monte Cristo `
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the concentrated look, changing color, and slight trembling `
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of the eyelid that show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble `
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heart," said the count; "so much the better." This `
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exclamation, which corresponded to the count's own thought `
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rather than to what Albert was saying, surprised everybody, `
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and especially Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with `
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wonder. But, at the same time, the intonation was so soft `
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that, however strange the speech might seem, it was `
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impossible to be offended at it. "Why should he doubt it?" `
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said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud. `
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"In reality," replied the latter, who, with his aristocratic `
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glance and his knowledge of the world, had penetrated at `
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once all that was penetrable in Monte Cristo, "Albert has `
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not deceived us, for the count is a most singular being. `
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What say you, Morrel!" `
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"Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in `
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spite of the singular remark he has made about me." `
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"Gentlemen," said Albert, "Germain informs me that breakfast `
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is ready. My dear count, allow me to show you the way." They `
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passed silently into the breakfast-room, and every one took `
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