Part 78

“_Peste!_ I will do nothing of the kind; the moment they come from government you would find them execrable. Besides, that does not concern the home but the financial department. Address yourself to M. Humann, section of the indirect contributions, corridor A., No. 26.” “On my word,” said Albert, “you astonish me by the extent of your knowledge. Take a cigar.” “Really, my dear Albert,” replied Lucien, lighting a manilla at a rose-colored taper that burnt in a beautifully enamelled stand—“how happy you are to have nothing to do. You do not know your own good fortune!” “And what would you do, my dear diplomatist,” replied Morcerf, with a slight degree of irony in his voice, “if you did nothing? What? private secretary to a minister, plunged at once into European cabals and Parisian intrigues; having kings, and, better still, queens, to protect, parties to unite, elections to direct; making more use of your cabinet with your pen and your telegraph than Napoleon did of his battle-fields with his sword and his victories; possessing five-and-twenty thousand francs a year, besides your place; a horse, for which Château-Renaud offered you four hundred louis, and which you would not part with; a tailor who never disappoints you; with the opera, the jockey-club, and other diversions, can you not amuse yourself? Well, I will amuse you.” “How?” “By introducing to you a new acquaintance.” “A man or a woman?” “A man.” “I know so many men already.” “But you do not know this man.” “Where does he come from—the end of the world?” “Farther still, perhaps.” “The deuce! I hope he does not bring our breakfast with him.” “Oh, no; our breakfast comes from my father’s kitchen. Are you hungry?” “Humiliating as such a confession is, I am. But I dined at M. de Villefort’s, and lawyers always give you very bad dinners. You would think they felt some remorse; did you ever remark that?” “Ah, depreciate other persons’ dinners; you ministers give such splendid ones.” “Yes; but we do not invite people of fashion. If we were not forced to entertain a parcel of country boobies because they think and vote with us, we should never dream of dining at home, I assure you.” “Well, take another glass of sherry and another biscuit.” “Willingly. Your Spanish wine is excellent. You see we were quite right to pacify that country.” “Yes; but Don Carlos?” “Well, Don Carlos will drink Bordeaux, and in ten years we will marry his son to the little queen.” “You will then obtain the Golden Fleece, if you are still in the ministry.” “I think, Albert, you have adopted the system of feeding me on smoke this morning.” “Well, you must allow it is the best thing for the stomach; but I hear Beauchamp in the next room; you can dispute together, and that will pass away the time.” “About what?” “About the papers.” “My dear friend,” said Lucien with an air of sovereign contempt, “do I ever read the papers?” “Then you will dispute the more.” “M. Beauchamp,” announced the servant. “Come in, come in,” said Albert, rising and advancing to meet the young man. “Here is Debray, who detests you without reading you, so he says.” “He is quite right,” returned Beauchamp; “for I criticise him without knowing what he does. Good-day, commander!” “Ah, you know that already,” said the private secretary, smiling and shaking hands with him. “_Pardieu!_” “And what do they say of it in the world?” “In which world? we have so many worlds in the year of grace 1838.” “In the entire political world, of which you are one of the leaders.” “They say that it is quite fair, and that sowing so much red, you ought to reap a little blue.” “Come, come, that is not bad!” said Lucien. “Why do you not join our party, my dear Beauchamp? With your talents you would make your fortune in three or four years.” “I only await one thing before following your advice; that is, a minister who will hold office for six months. My dear Albert, one word, for I must give poor Lucien a respite. Do we breakfast or dine? I must go to the Chamber, for our life is not an idle one.” “You only breakfast; I await two persons, and the instant they arrive we shall sit down to table.” Chapter 40. The Breakfast And what sort of persons do you expect to breakfast?” said Beauchamp. “A gentleman, and a diplomatist.” “Then we shall have to wait two hours for the gentleman, and three for the diplomatist. I shall come back to dessert; keep me some strawberries, coffee, and cigars. I shall take a cutlet on my way to the Chamber.” “Do not do anything of the sort; for were the gentleman a Montmorency, and the diplomatist a Metternich, we will breakfast at eleven; in the meantime, follow Debray’s example, and take a glass of sherry and a biscuit.” “Be it so; I will stay; I must do something to distract my thoughts.” “You are like Debray, and yet it seems to me that when the minister is out of spirits, the opposition ought to be joyous.” “Ah, you do not know with what I am threatened. I shall hear this morning that M. Danglars make a speech at the Chamber of Deputies, and at his wife’s this evening I shall hear the tragedy of a peer of France. The devil take the constitutional government, and since we had our choice, as they say, at least, how could we choose that?” “I understand; you must lay in a stock of hilarity.” “Do not run down M. Danglars’ speeches,” said Debray; “he votes for you, for he belongs to the opposition.” “_Pardieu_, that is exactly the worst of all. I am waiting until you send him to speak at the Luxembourg, to laugh at my ease.” “My dear friend,” said Albert to Beauchamp, “it is plain that the affairs of Spain are settled, for you are most desperately out of humor this morning. Recollect that Parisian gossip has spoken of a marriage between myself and Mlle. Eugénie Danglars; I cannot in conscience, therefore, let you run down the speeches of a man who will one day say to me, ‘Vicomte, you know I give my daughter two millions.’” “Ah, this marriage will never take place,” said Beauchamp. “The king has made him a baron, and can make him a peer, but he cannot make him a gentleman, and the Count of Morcerf is too aristocratic to consent, for the paltry sum of two million francs, to a _mésalliance_. The Viscount of Morcerf can only wed a marchioness.” “But two million francs make a nice little sum,” replied Morcerf. “It is the social capital of a theatre on the boulevard, or a railroad from the Jardin des Plantes to La Râpée.” “Never mind what he says, Morcerf,” said Debray, “do you marry her. You marry a money-bag label, it is true; well, but what does that matter? It is better to have a blazon less and a figure more on it. You have seven martlets on your arms; give three to your wife, and you will still have four; that is one more than M. de Guise had, who so nearly became King of France, and whose cousin was Emperor of Germany.” “On my word, I think you are right, Lucien,” said Albert absently. “To be sure; besides, every millionaire is as noble as a bastard—that is, he can be.” “Do not say that, Debray,” returned Beauchamp, laughing, “for here is Château-Renaud, who, to cure you of your mania for paradoxes, will pass the sword of Renaud de Montauban, his ancestor, through your body.” “He will sully it then,” returned Lucien; “for I am low—very low.” “Oh, heavens,” cried Beauchamp, “the minister quotes Béranger, what shall we come to next?” “M. de Château-Renaud—M. Maximilian Morrel,” said the servant, announcing two fresh guests. “Now, then, to breakfast,” said Beauchamp; “for, if I remember, you told me you only expected two persons, Albert.” “Morrel,” muttered Albert—“Morrel—who is he?” But before he had finished, M. de Château-Renaud, a handsome young man of thirty, gentleman all over,—that is, with the figure of a Guiche and the wit of a Mortemart,—took Albert’s hand. “My dear Albert,” said he, “let me introduce to you M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, my friend; and what is more—however the man speaks for himself—my preserver. Salute my hero, viscount.” And he stepped on one side to give place to a young man of refined and dignified bearing, with large and open brow, piercing eyes, and black moustache, whom our readers have already seen at Marseilles, under circumstances sufficiently dramatic not to be forgotten. A rich uniform, half French, half Oriental, set off his graceful and stalwart figure, and his broad chest was decorated with the order of the Legion of Honor. The young officer bowed with easy and elegant politeness. “Monsieur,” said Albert with affectionate courtesy, “the count of Château-Renaud knew how much pleasure this introduction would give me; you are his friend, be ours also.” “Well said,” interrupted Château-Renaud; “and pray that, if you should ever be in a similar predicament, he may do as much for you as he did for me.” “What has he done?” asked Albert. “Oh, nothing worth speaking of,” said Morrel; “M. de Château-Renaud exaggerates.” “Not worth speaking of?” cried Château-Renaud; “life is not worth speaking of!—that is rather too philosophical, on my word, Morrel. It is very well for you, who risk your life every day, but for me, who only did so once——” “We gather from all this, baron, that Captain Morrel saved your life.” “Exactly so.” “On what occasion?” asked Beauchamp. “Beauchamp, my good fellow, you know I am starving,” said Debray: “do not set him off on some long story.” “Well, I do not prevent your sitting down to table,” replied Beauchamp, “Château-Renaud can tell us while we eat our breakfast.” “Gentlemen,” said Morcerf, “it is only a quarter past ten, and I expect someone else.” “Ah, true, a diplomatist!” observed Debray. “Diplomat or not, I don’t know; I only know that he charged himself on my account with a mission, which he terminated so entirely to my satisfaction, that had I been king, I should have instantly created him knight of all my orders, even had I been able to offer him the Golden Fleece and the Garter.” “Well, since we are not to sit down to table,” said Debray, “take a glass of sherry, and tell us all about it.” “You all know that I had the fancy of going to Africa.” “It is a road your ancestors have traced for you,” said Albert gallantly. “Yes? but I doubt that your object was like theirs—to rescue the Holy Sepulchre.” “You are quite right, Beauchamp,” observed the young aristocrat. “It was only to fight as an amateur. I cannot bear duelling ever since two seconds, whom I had chosen to arrange an affair, forced me to break the arm of one of my best friends, one whom you all know—poor Franz d’Épinay.” “Ah, true,” said Debray, “you did fight some time ago; about what?” 20235m “The devil take me, if I remember,” returned Château-Renaud. “But I recollect perfectly one thing, that, being unwilling to let such talents as mine sleep, I wished to try upon the Arabs the new pistols that had been given to me. In consequence I embarked for Oran, and went from thence to Constantine, where I arrived just in time to witness the raising of the siege. I retreated with the rest, for eight-and-forty hours. I endured the rain during the day, and the cold during the night tolerably well, but the third morning my horse died of cold. Poor brute—accustomed to be covered up and to have a stove in the stable, the Arabian finds himself unable to bear ten degrees of cold in Arabia.” “That’s why you want to purchase my English horse,” said Debray, “you think he will bear the cold better.” “You are mistaken, for I have made a vow never to return to Africa.” “You were very much frightened, then?” asked Beauchamp. “Well, yes, and I had good reason to be so,” replied Château-Renaud. “I was retreating on foot, for my horse was dead. Six Arabs came up, full gallop, to cut off my head. I shot two with my double-barrelled gun, and two more with my pistols, but I was then disarmed, and two were still left; one seized me by the hair (that is why I now wear it so short, for no one knows what may happen), the other swung a yataghan, and I already felt the cold steel on my neck, when this gentleman whom you see here charged them, shot the one who held me by the hair, and cleft the skull of the other with his sabre. He had assigned himself the task of saving a man’s life that day; chance caused that man to be myself. When I am rich I will order a statue of Chance from Klagmann or Marochetti.”