The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (best book club books .TXT) 📕

“Are you quite decided, Albert?”

“Yes; let us go.”

“But do you think we shall find the count at home?”

“He intended returning some hours after me, and doubtless he is now at home.”

They ordered the driver to take them to No. 30 Champs-Élysées. Beauchamp wished to go in alone, but Albert observed that as this was an unusual circumstance he might be allowed to deviate from the usual etiquette of duels. The cause which the young man espoused was one so sacred that Beauchamp had only to comply with all his wishes; he yielded and contented himself with following Morcerf. Albert sprang from the porter’s lodge to the steps. He was received by Baptistin. The count had, indeed, just arrived, but he was in his bath, and had forbidden that anyone should be admitted.

“But after his bath?” asked Morcerf.

“My master will go to dinner.”

“And after dinner?”

“He will sleep an hour.”

“Then?”

“He is going to the Opera.”

“Are you sure of it?” asked Albert.

“Quite, sir; my master has ordered his horses at eight o’clock precisely.”

“Very good,” replied Albert; “that is all I wished to know.”

Then, turning towards Beauchamp, “If you have anything to attend to, Beauchamp, do it directly; if you have any appointment for this evening, defer it till tomorrow. I depend on you to accompany me to the Opera; and if you can, bring Château-Renaud with you.”

Beauchamp availed himself of Albert’s permission, and left him, promising to call for him at a quarter before eight. On his return home, Albert expressed his wish to Franz Debray, and Morrel, to see them at the Opera that evening. Then he went to see his mother, who since the events of the day before had refused to see anyone, and had kept her room. He found her in bed, overwhelmed with grief at this public humiliation.

The sight of Albert produced the effect which might naturally be expected on Mercédès; she pressed her son’s hand and sobbed aloud, but her tears relieved her. Albert stood one moment speechless by the side of his mother’s bed. It was evident from his pale face and knit brows that his resolution to revenge himself was growing weaker.

“My dear mother,” said he, “do you know if M. de Morcerf has any enemy?”

Mercédès started; she noticed that the young man did not say “my father.”

“My son,” she said, “persons in the count’s situation have many secret enemies. Those who are known are not the most dangerous.”

“I know it, and appeal to your penetration. You are of so superior a mind, nothing escapes you.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because, for instance, you noticed on the evening of the ball we gave, that M. de Monte Cristo would eat nothing in our house.”

Mercédès raised herself on her feverish arm.

“M. de Monte Cristo!” she exclaimed; “and how is he connected with the question you asked me?”

“You know, mother, M. de Monte Cristo is almost an Oriental, and it is customary with the Orientals to secure full liberty for revenge by not eating or drinking in the houses of their enemies.”

“Do you say M. de Monte Cristo is our enemy?” replied Mercédès, becoming paler than the sheet which covered her. “Who told you so? Why, you are mad, Albert! M. de Monte Cristo has only shown us kindness. M. de Monte Cristo saved your life; you yourself presented him to us. Oh, I entreat you, my son, if you had entertained such an idea, dispel it; and my counsel to you⁠—nay, my prayer⁠—is to retain his friendship.”

“Mother,” replied the young man, “you have special reasons for telling me to conciliate that man.”

“I?” said Mercédès, blushing as rapidly as she had turned pale, and again becoming paler than ever.

“Yes, doubtless; and is it not that he may never do us any harm?”

Mercédès shuddered, and, fixing on her son a scrutinizing gaze, “You speak strangely,” said she to Albert, “and you appear to have some singular prejudices. What has the count done? Three days since you were with him in Normandy; only three days since we looked on him as our best friend.”

An ironical smile passed over Albert’s lips. Mercédès saw it and with the double instinct of woman and mother guessed all; but as she was prudent and strong-minded she concealed both her sorrows and her fears. Albert was silent; an instant after, the countess resumed:

“You came to inquire after my health; I will candidly acknowledge that I am not well. You should install yourself here, and cheer my solitude. I do not wish to be left alone.”

“Mother,” said the young man, “you know how gladly I would obey your wish, but an urgent and important affair obliges me to leave you for the whole evening.”

“Well,” replied Mercédès, sighing, “go, Albert; I will not make you a slave to your filial piety.”

Albert pretended he did not hear, bowed to his mother, and quitted her. Scarcely had he shut her door, when Mercédès called a confidential servant, and ordered him to follow Albert wherever he should go that evening, and to come and tell her immediately what he observed. Then she rang for her lady’s maid, and, weak as she was, she dressed, in order to be ready for whatever might happen. The footman’s mission was an easy one. Albert went to his room, and dressed with unusual care. At ten minutes to eight Beauchamp arrived; he had seen Château-Renaud, who had promised to be in the orchestra before the curtain was raised. Both got into Albert’s coupé; and, as the young man had no reason to conceal where he was going, he called aloud, “To the Opera.” In his impatience he arrived before the beginning of the performance.

Château-Renaud was at his post; apprised by Beauchamp of the circumstances, he required no explanation from Albert. The conduct of the son in seeking to avenge his father was so natural that Château-Renaud did not seek to dissuade him, and was content with renewing his assurances of devotion. Debray was not yet come, but Albert knew that he seldom lost a