Part 148

“But that is not all.” “Not all!” “No; they were going to marry their daughter——” “To M. Franz d’Épinay. Is it broken off?” “Yesterday morning, it appears, Franz declined the honor.” “Indeed? And is the reason known?” “No.” “How extraordinary! And how does M. de Villefort bear it?” “As usual. Like a philosopher.” Danglars returned at this moment alone. “Well,” said the baroness, “do you leave M. Cavalcanti with your daughter?” “And Mademoiselle d’Armilly,” said the banker; “do you consider her no one?” Then, turning to Monte Cristo, he said, “Prince Cavalcanti is a charming young man, is he not? But is he really a prince?” “I will not answer for it,” said Monte Cristo. “His father was introduced to me as a marquis, so he ought to be a count; but I do not think he has much claim to that title.” “Why?” said the banker. “If he is a prince, he is wrong not to maintain his rank; I do not like anyone to deny his origin.” “Oh, you are a thorough democrat,” said Monte Cristo, smiling. “But do you see to what you are exposing yourself?” said the baroness. “If, perchance, M. de Morcerf came, he would find M. Cavalcanti in that room, where he, the betrothed of Eugénie, has never been admitted.” “You may well say, perchance,” replied the banker; “for he comes so seldom, it would seem only chance that brings him.” “But should he come and find that young man with your daughter, he might be displeased.” “He? You are mistaken. M. Albert would not do us the honor to be jealous; he does not like Eugénie sufficiently. Besides, I care not for his displeasure.” “Still, situated as we are——” “Yes, do you know how we are situated? At his mother’s ball he danced once with Eugénie, and M. Cavalcanti three times, and he took no notice of it.” The valet announced the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf. The baroness rose hastily, and was going into the study, when Danglars stopped her. “Let her alone,” said he. She looked at him in amazement. Monte Cristo appeared to be unconscious of what passed. Albert entered, looking very handsome and in high spirits. He bowed politely to the baroness, familiarly to Danglars, and affectionately to Monte Cristo. Then turning to the baroness: “May I ask how Mademoiselle Danglars is?” said he. “She is quite well,” replied Danglars quickly; “she is at the piano with M. Cavalcanti.” Albert retained his calm and indifferent manner; he might feel perhaps annoyed, but he knew Monte Cristo’s eye was on him. “M. Cavalcanti has a fine tenor voice,” said he, “and Mademoiselle Eugénie a splendid soprano, and then she plays the piano like Thalberg. The concert must be a delightful one.” “They suit each other remarkably well,” said Danglars. Albert appeared not to notice this remark, which was, however, so rude that Madame Danglars blushed. “I, too,” said the young man, “am a musician—at least, my masters used to tell me so; but it is strange that my voice never would suit any other, and a soprano less than any.” Danglars smiled, and seemed to say, “It is of no consequence.” Then, hoping doubtless to effect his purpose, he said,—“The prince and my daughter were universally admired yesterday. You were not of the party, M. de Morcerf?” “What prince?” asked Albert. “Prince Cavalcanti,” said Danglars, who persisted in giving the young man that title. “Pardon me,” said Albert, “I was not aware that he was a prince. And Prince Cavalcanti sang with Mademoiselle Eugénie yesterday? It must have been charming, indeed. I regret not having heard them. But I was unable to accept your invitation, having promised to accompany my mother to a German concert given by the Baroness of Château-Renaud.” This was followed by rather an awkward silence. “May I also be allowed,” said Morcerf, “to pay my respects to Mademoiselle Danglars?” “Wait a moment,” said the banker, stopping the young man; “do you hear that delightful cavatina? Ta, ta, ta, ti, ta, ti, ta, ta; it is charming, let them finish—one moment. Bravo, bravi, brava!” The banker was enthusiastic in his applause. 40054m “Indeed,” said Albert, “it is exquisite; it is impossible to understand the music of his country better than Prince Cavalcanti does. You said prince, did you not? But he can easily become one, if he is not already; it is no uncommon thing in Italy. But to return to the charming musicians—you should give us a treat, Danglars, without telling them there is a stranger. Ask them to sing one more song; it is so delightful to hear music in the distance, when the musicians are unrestrained by observation.” Danglars was quite annoyed by the young man’s indifference. He took Monte Cristo aside. “What do you think of our lover?” said he. “He appears cool. But, then your word is given.” “Yes, doubtless I have promised to give my daughter to a man who loves her, but not to one who does not. See him there, cold as marble and proud like his father. If he were rich, if he had Cavalcanti’s fortune, that might be pardoned. _Ma foi_, I haven’t consulted my daughter; but if she has good taste——” “Oh,” said Monte Cristo, “my fondness may blind me, but I assure you I consider Morcerf a charming young man who will render your daughter happy and will sooner or later attain a certain amount of distinction, and his father’s position is good.” “Hem,” said Danglars. “Why do you doubt?” “The past—that obscurity on the past.” “But that does not affect the son.” “Very true.” “Now, I beg of you, don’t go off your head. It’s a month now that you have been thinking of this marriage, and you must see that it throws some responsibility on me, for it was at my house you met this young Cavalcanti, whom I do not really know at all.” “But I do.” “Have you made inquiry?” “Is there any need of that! Does not his appearance speak for him? And he is very rich.” “I am not so sure of that.” “And yet you said he had money.” “Fifty thousand livres—a mere trifle.” “He is well educated.” “Hem,” said Monte Cristo in his turn. “He is a musician.” “So are all Italians.” “Come, count, you do not do that young man justice.” “Well, I acknowledge it annoys me, knowing your connection with the Morcerf family, to see him throw himself in the way.” Danglars burst out laughing. “What a Puritan you are!” said he; “that happens every day.” “But you cannot break it off in this way; the Morcerfs are depending on this union.” “Indeed.” “Positively.” “Then let them explain themselves; you should give the father a hint, you are so intimate with the family.” “I?—where the devil did you find out that?” “At their ball; it was apparent enough. Why, did not the countess, the proud Mercédès, the disdainful Catalane, who will scarcely open her lips to her oldest acquaintances, take your arm, lead you into the garden, into the private walks, and remain there for half an hour?” “Ah, baron, baron,” said Albert, “you are not listening—what barbarism in a megalomaniac like you!” “Oh, don’t worry about me, Sir Mocker,” said Danglars; then turning to Monte Cristo he said: “But will you undertake to speak to the father?” “Willingly, if you wish it.” “But let it be done explicitly and positively. If he demands my daughter let him fix the day—declare his conditions; in short, let us either understand each other, or quarrel. You understand—no more delay.” “Yes, sir, I will give my attention to the subject.” “I do not say that I await with pleasure his decision, but I do await it. A banker must, you know, be a slave to his promise.” And Danglars sighed as M. Cavalcanti had done half an hour before. “Bravi! bravo! brava!” cried Morcerf, parodying the banker, as the selection came to an end. Danglars began to look suspiciously at Morcerf, when someone came and whispered a few words to him. “I shall soon return,” said the banker to Monte Cristo; “wait for me. I shall, perhaps, have something to say to you.” And he went out. The baroness took advantage of her husband’s absence to push open the door of her daughter’s study, and M. Andrea, who was sitting before the piano with Mademoiselle Eugénie, started up like a jack-in-the-box. Albert bowed with a smile to Mademoiselle Danglars, who did not appear in the least disturbed, and returned his bow with her usual coolness. Cavalcanti was evidently embarrassed; he bowed to Morcerf, who replied with the most impertinent look possible. Then Albert launched out in praise of Mademoiselle Danglars’ voice, and on his regret, after what he had just heard, that he had been unable to be present the previous evening. Cavalcanti, being left alone, turned to Monte Cristo. “Come,” said Madame Danglars, “leave music and compliments, and let us go and take tea.” “Come, Louise,” said Mademoiselle Danglars to her friend. They passed into the next drawing-room, where tea was prepared. Just as they were beginning, in the English fashion, to leave the spoons in their cups, the door again opened and Danglars entered, visibly agitated. Monte Cristo observed it particularly, and by a look asked the banker for an explanation. “I have just received my courier from Greece,” said Danglars. “Ah, yes,” said the count; “that was the reason of your running away from us.” “Yes.” “How is King Otho getting on?” asked Albert in the most sprightly tone. Danglars cast another suspicious look towards him without answering, and Monte Cristo turned away to conceal the expression of pity which passed over his features, but which was gone in a moment. “We shall go together, shall we not?” said Albert to the count. “If you like,” replied the latter. Albert could not understand the banker’s look, and turning to Monte Cristo, who understood it perfectly,—“Did you see,” said he, “how he looked at me?” “Yes,” said the count; “but did you think there was anything particular in his look?” “Indeed, I did; and what does he mean by his news from Greece?” “How can I tell you?” “Because I imagine you have correspondents in that country.” Monte Cristo smiled significantly. “Stop,” said Albert, “here he comes. I shall compliment Mademoiselle Danglars on her cameo, while the father talks to you.” “If you compliment her at all, let it be on her voice, at least,” said Monte Cristo. “No, everyone would do that.” “My dear viscount, you are dreadfully impertinent.” Albert advanced towards Eugénie, smiling. Meanwhile, Danglars, stooping to Monte Cristo’s ear, “Your advice was excellent,” said he; “there is a whole history connected with the names Fernand and Yanina.” “Indeed?” said Monte Cristo. “Yes, I will tell you all; but take away the young man; I cannot endure his presence.” “He is going with me. Shall I send the father to you?” “Immediately.” “Very well.” The count made a sign to Albert and they bowed to the ladies, and took their leave, Albert perfectly indifferent to Mademoiselle Danglars’ contempt, Monte Cristo reiterating his advice to Madame Danglars on the prudence a banker’s wife should exercise in providing for the future. M. Cavalcanti remained master of the field. Chapter 77. Haydée Scarcely had the count’s horses cleared the angle of the boulevard, when Albert, turning towards the count, burst into a loud fit of laughter—much too loud in fact not to give the idea of its being rather forced and unnatural. “Well,” said he, “I will ask you the same question which Charles IX. put to Catherine de’ Medici, after the massacre of Saint Bartholomew: ‘How have I played my little part?’” “To what do you allude?” asked Monte Cristo. “To the installation of my rival at M. Danglars’.” “What rival?” “_Ma foi!_ what rival? Why, your protégé, M. Andrea Cavalcanti!” “Ah, no joking, viscount, if you please; I do not patronize M. Andrea—at least, not as concerns M. Danglars.” “And you would be to blame for not assisting him, if the young man really needed your help in that quarter, but, happily for me, he can dispense with it.” “What, do you think he is paying his addresses?” “I am certain of it; his languishing looks and modulated tones when addressing Mademoiselle Danglars fully proclaim his intentions. He aspires to the hand of the proud Eugénie.”