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    Chapter 40

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    Chapter 40
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    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. Eugenie 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 mesalliance. 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 Rapee."

    "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 Chateau-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
    Beranger, what shall we come to next?"

    "M. de Chateau-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 Chateau-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
    mustache, 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 Chateau-Renaud knew how much pleasure this
    introduction would give me; you are his friend, be ours
    also."

    "Well said," interrupted Chateau-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
    Chateau-Renaud exaggerates."

    "Not worth speaking of?" cried Chateau-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, "Chateau-Renaud can tell us while we eat our
    breakfast."

    "Gentlemen," said Morcerf, "it is only a quarter past ten,
    and I expect some one 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 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'Epinay."

    "Ah, true," said Debray, "you did fight some time ago; about
    what?"

    "The devil take me, if I remember," returned Chateau-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
    Chateau-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."

    "Yes," said Morrel, smiling, "it was the 5th of September,
    the anniversary of the day on which my father was
    miraculously preserved; therefore, as far as it lies in my
    power, I endeavor to celebrate it by some" --

    "Heroic action," interrupted Chateau-Renaud. "I was chosen.
    But that is not all -- after rescuing me from the sword, he
    rescued me from the cold, not by sharing his cloak with me,
    like St. Martin, but by giving me the whole; then from
    hunger by sharing with me -- guess what?"

    "A Strasbourg pie?" asked Beauchamp.

    "No, his horse; of which we each of us ate a slice with a
    hearty appetite. It was very hard."

    "The horse?" said Morcerf, laughing.

    "No, the sacrifice," returned Chateau-Renaud; "ask Debray if
    he would sacrifice his English steed for a stranger?"

    "Not for a stranger," said Debray, "but for a friend I
    might, perhaps."

    "I divined that you would become mine, count," replied
    Morrel; "besides, as I had the honor to tell you, heroism or
    not, sacrifice or not, that day I owed an offering to bad
    fortune in recompense for the favors good fortune had on
    other days granted to us."

    "The history to which M. Morrel alludes," continued
    Chateau-Renaud, "is an admirable one, which he will tell you
    some day when you are better acquainted with him; to-day let
    us fill our stomachs, and not our memories. What time do you
    breakfast, Albert?"

    "At half-past ten."

    "Precisely?" asked Debray, taking out his watch.

    "Oh, you will give me five minutes' grace," replied Morcerf,
    "for I also expect a preserver."

    "Of whom?"

    "Of myself," cried Morcerf; "parbleu, do you think I cannot
    be saved as well as any one else, and that there are only
    Arabs who cut off heads? Our breakfast is a philanthropic
    one, and we shall have at table -- at least, I hope so --
    two benefactors of humanity."

    "What shall we do?" said Debray; "we have only one Monthyon
    prize."

    "Well, it will be given to some one who has done nothing to
    deserve it," said Beauchamp; "that is the way the Academy
    mostly escapes from the dilemma."

    "And where does he come from?" asked Debray. "You have
    already answered the question once, but so vaguely that I
    venture to put it a second time."

    "Really," said Albert, "I do not know; when I invited him
    three months ago, he was then at Rome, but since that time
    who knows where he may have gone?"

    "And you think him capable of being exact?" demanded Debray.

    "I think him capable of everything."

    "Well, with the five minutes' grace, we have only ten left."

    "I will profit by them to tell you something about my
    guest."

    "I beg pardon," interrupted Beauchamp; "are there any
    materials for an article in what you are going to tell us?"

    "Yes, and for a most curious one."

    "Go on, then, for I see I shall not get to the Chamber this
    morning, and I must make up for it."

    "I was at Rome during the last Carnival."

    "We know that," said Beauchamp.

    "Yes, but what you do not know is that I was carried off by
    bandits."

    "There are no bandits," cried Debray.

    "Yes there are, and most hideous, or rather most admirable
    ones, for I found them ugly enough to frighten me."

    "Come, my dear Albert," said Debray, "confess that your cook
    is behindhand, that the oysters have not arrived from Ostend
    or Marennes, and that, like Madame de Maintenon, you are
    going to replace the dish by a story. Say so at once; we are
    sufficiently well-bred to excuse you, and to listen to your
    history, fabulous as it promises to be."

    "And I say to you, fabulous as it may seem, I tell it as a
    true one from beginning to end. The brigands had carried me
    off, and conducted me to a gloomy spot, called the Catacombs
    of Saint Sebastian."

    "I know it," said Chateau-Renaud; "I narrowly escaped
    catching a fever there."

    "And I did more than that," replied Morcerf, "for I caught
    one. I was informed that I was prisoner until I paid the sum
    of 4,000 Roman crowns -- about 24,000 francs. Unfortunately,
    I had not above 1,500. I was at the end of my journey and of
    my credit. I wrote to Franz -- and were he here he would
    confirm every word -- I wrote then to Franz that if he did
    not come with the four thousand crowns before six, at ten
    minutes past I should have gone to join the blessed saints
    and glorious martyrs in whose company I had the honor of
    being; and Signor Luigi Vampa, such was the name of the
    chief of these bandits, would have scrupulously kept his
    word."

    "But Franz did come with the four thousand crowns," said
    Chateau-Renaud. "A man whose name is Franz d'Epinay or
    Albert de Morcerf has not much difficulty in procuring
    them."

    "No, he arrived accompanied simply by the guest I am going
    to present to you."

    "Ah, this gentleman is a Hercules killing Cacus, a Perseus
    freeing Andromeda."

    "No, he is a man about my own size."

    "Armed to the teeth?"

    "He had not even a knitting-needle."

    "But he paid your ransom?"

    "He said two words to the chief and I was free."

    "And they apologized to him for having carried you off?"
    said Beauchamp.

    "Just so."

    "Why, he is a second Ariosto."

    "No, his name is the Count of Monte Cristo."

    "There is no Count of Monte Cristo" said Debray.

    "I do not think so," added Chateau-Renaud, with the air of a
    man who knows the whole of the European nobility perfectly.

    "Does any one know anything of a Count of Monte Cristo?"

    "He comes possibly from the Holy Land, and one of his
    ancestors possessed Calvary, as the Mortemarts did the Dead
    Sea."

    "I think I can assist your researches," said Maximilian.
    "Monte Cristo is a little island I have often heard spoken
    of by the old sailors my father employed -- a grain of sand
    in the centre of the Mediterranean, an atom in the
    infinite."

    "Precisely!" cried Albert. "Well, he of whom I speak is the
    lord and master of this grain of sand, of this atom; he has
    purchased the title of count somewhere in Tuscany."

    "He is rich, then?"

    "I believe so."

    "But that ought to be visible."

    "That is what deceives you, Debray."

    "I do not understand you."

    "Have you read the 'Arabian Nights'?"

    "What a question!"

    "Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or
    poor, if their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds?
    They seem like poor fishermen, and suddenly they open some
    mysterious cavern filled with the wealth of the Indies."

    "Which means?"

    "Which means that my Count of Monte Cristo is one of those
    fishermen. He has even a name taken from the book, since he
    calls himself Sinbad the Sailor, and has a cave filled with
    gold."

    "And you have seen this cavern, Morcerf?" asked Beauchamp.

    "No, but Franz has; for heaven's sake, not a word of this
    before him. Franz went in with his eyes blindfolded, and was
    waited on by mutes and by women to whom Cleopatra was a
    painted strumpet. Only he is not quite sure about the women,
    for they did not come in until after he had taken hashish,
    so that what he took for women might have been simply a row
    of statues."

    The two young men looked at Morcerf as if to say, -- "Are
    you mad, or are you laughing at us?"

    "And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, "have heard
    something like this from an old sailor named Penelon."

    "Ah," cried Albert, "it is very lucky that M. Morrel comes
    to aid me; you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a
    clew to the labyrinth?"

    "My dear Albert," said Debray, "what you tell us is so
    extraordinary."

    "Ah, because your ambassadors and your consuls do not tell
    you of them -- they have no time. They are too much taken up
    with interfering in the affairs of their countrymen who
    travel."

    "Now you get angry, and attack our poor agents. How will you
    have them protect you? The Chamber cuts down their salaries
    every day, so that now they have scarcely any. Will you be
    ambassador, Albert? I will send you to Constantinople."

    "No, lest on the first demonstration I make in favor of
    Mehemet Ali, the Sultan send me the bowstring, and make my
    secretaries strangle me."

    "You say very true," responded Debray.

    "Yes," said Albert, "but this has nothing to do with the
    existence of the Count of Monte Cristo."

    "Pardieu, every one exists."

    "Doubtless, but not in the same way; every one has not black
    slaves, a princely retinue, an arsenal of weapons that would
    do credit to an Arabian fortress, horses that cost six
    thousand francs apiece, and Greek mistresses."

    "Have you seen the Greek mistress?"

    "I have both seen and heard her. I saw her at the theatre,
    and heard her one morning when I breakfasted with the
    count."

    "He eats, then?"

    "Yes; but so little, it can hardly be called eating."

    "He must be a vampire."

    "Laugh, if you will; the Countess G---- , who knew Lord
    Ruthven, declared that the count was a vampire."

    "Ah, capital," said Beauchamp. "For a man not connected with
    newspapers, here is the pendant to the famous sea-serpent of
    the Constitutionnel."

    "Wild eyes, the iris of which contracts or dilates at
    pleasure," said Debray; "facial angle strongly developed,
    magnificent forehead, livid complexion, black beard, sharp
    and white teeth, politeness unexceptionable."

    "Just so, Lucien," returned Morcerf; "you have described him
    feature for feature. Yes, keen and cutting politeness. This
    man has often made me shudder; and one day that we were
    viewing an execution, I thought I should faint, more from
    hearing the cold and calm manner in which he spoke of every
    description of torture, than from the sight of the
    executioner and the culprit."

    "Did he not conduct you to the ruins of the Colosseum and
    suck your blood?" asked Beauchamp.

    "Or, having delivered you, make you sign a flaming
    parchment, surrendering your soul to him as Esau did his
    birth-right?"

    "Rail on, rail on at your ease, gentlemen," said Morcerf,
    somewhat piqued. "When I look at you Parisians, idlers on
    the Boulevard de Gand or the Bois de Boulogne, and think of
    this man, it seems to me we are not of the same race."

    "I am highly flattered," returned Beauchamp. "At the same
    time," added Chateau-Renaud, "your Count of Monte Cristo is
    a very fine fellow, always excepting his little arrangements
    with the Italian banditti."

    "There are no Italian banditti," said Debray.

    "No vampire," cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo"
    added Debray. "There is half-past ten striking, Albert."

    "Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to
    breakfast," continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock
    had not died away when Germain announced, "His excellency
    the Count of Monte Cristo." The involuntary start every one
    gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative had impressed them,
    and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from manifesting
    sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the
    street, or steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself
    opened noiselessly. The count appeared, dressed with the
    greatest simplicity, but the most fastidious dandy could
    have found nothing to cavil at in his toilet. Every article
    of dress -- hat, coat, gloves, and boots -- was from the
    first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what
    struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait
    Debray had drawn. The count advanced, smiling, into the
    centre of the room, and approached Albert, who hastened
    towards him holding out his hand in a ceremonial manner.
    "Punctuality," said Monte Cristo, "is the politeness of
    kings, according to one of your sovereigns, I think; but it
    is not the same with travellers. However, I hope you will
    excuse the two or three seconds I am behindhand; five
    hundred leagues are not to be accomplished without some
    trouble, and especially in France, where, it seems, it is
    forbidden to beat the postilions."

    "My dear count," replied Albert, "I was announcing your
    visit to some of my friends, whom I had invited in
    consequence of the promise you did me the honor to make, and
    whom I now present to you. They are the Count of
    Chateau-Renaud, whose nobility goes back to the twelve
    peers, and whose ancestors had a place at the Round Table;
    M. Lucien Debray, private secretary to the minister of the
    interior; M. Beauchamp, an editor of a paper, and the terror
    of the French government, but of whom, in spite of his
    national celebrity, you perhaps have not heard in Italy,
    since his paper is prohibited there; and M. Maximilian
    Morrel, captain of Spahis."

    At this name the count, who had hitherto saluted every one
    with courtesy, but at the same time with coldness and
    formality, stepped a pace forward, and a slight tinge of red
    colored his pale cheeks. "You wear the uniform of the new
    French conquerors, monsieur," said he; "it is a handsome
    uniform." No one could have said what caused the count's
    voice to vibrate so deeply, and what made his eye flash,
    which was in general so clear, lustrous, and limpid when he
    pleased. "You have never seen our Africans, count?" said
    Albert. "Never," replied the count, who was by this time
    perfectly master of himself again.

    "Well, beneath this uniform beats one of the bravest and
    noblest hearts in the whole army."

    "Oh, M. de Morcerf," interrupted Morrel.

    "Let me go on, captain. And we have just heard," continued
    Albert, "of a new deed of his, and so heroic a one, that,
    although I have seen him to-day for the first time, I
    request you to allow me to introduce him as my friend." At
    these words it was still possible to observe in Monte Cristo
    the concentrated look, changing color, and slight trembling
    of the eyelid that show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble
    heart," said the count; "so much the better." This
    exclamation, which corresponded to the count's own thought
    rather than to what Albert was saying, surprised everybody,
    and especially Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with
    wonder. But, at the same time, the intonation was so soft
    that, however strange the speech might seem, it was
    impossible to be offended at it. "Why should he doubt it?"
    said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud.

    "In reality," replied the latter, who, with his aristocratic
    glance and his knowledge of the world, had penetrated at
    once all that was penetrable in Monte Cristo, "Albert has
    not deceived us, for the count is a most singular being.
    What say you, Morrel!"

    "Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in
    spite of the singular remark he has made about me."

    "Gentlemen," said Albert, "Germain informs me that breakfast
    is ready. My dear count, allow me to show you the way." They
    passed silently into the breakfast-room, and every one took
    his place. "Gentleman," said the count, seating himself,
    "permit me to make a confession which must form my excuse
    for any improprieties I may commit. I am a stranger, and a
    stranger to such a degree, that this is the first time I
    have ever been at Paris. The French way of living is utterly
    unknown to me, and up to the present time I have followed
    the Eastern customs, which are entirely in contrast to the
    Parisian. I beg you, therefore, to excuse if you find
    anything in me too Turkish, too Italian, or too Arabian.
    Now, then, let us breakfast."

    "With what an air he says all this," muttered Beauchamp;
    "decidedly he is a great man."

    "A great man in his own country," added Debray.

    "A great man in every country, M. Debray," said
    Chateau-Renaud. The count was, it may be remembered, a most
    temperate guest. Albert remarked this, expressing his fears
    lest, at the outset, the Parisian mode of life should
    displease the traveller in the most essential point. "My
    dear count," said he, "I fear one thing, and that is, that
    the fare of the Rue du Helder is not so much to your taste
    as that of the Piazza di Spagni. I ought to have consulted
    you on the point, and have had some dishes prepared
    expressly."

    "Did you know me better," returned the count, smiling, "you
    would not give one thought of such a thing for a traveller
    like myself, who has successively lived on maccaroni at
    Naples, polenta at Milan, olla podrida at Valencia, pilau at
    Constantinople, karrick in India, and swallows' nests in
    China. I eat everywhere, and of everything, only I eat but
    little; and to-day, that you reproach me with my want of
    appetite, is my day of appetite, for I have not eaten since
    yesterday morning."

    "What," cried all the guests, "you have not eaten for four
    and twenty hours?"

    "No," replied the count; "I was forced to go out of my road
    to obtain some information near Nimes, so that I was
    somewhat late, and therefore I did not choose to stop."

    "And you ate in your carriage?" asked Morcerf.

    "No, I slept, as I generally do when I am weary without
    having the courage to amuse myself, or when I am hungry
    without feeling inclined to eat."

    "But you can sleep when you please, monsieur?" said Morrel.

    "Yes."

    "You have a recipe for it?"

    "An infallible one."

    "That would be invaluable to us in Africa, who have not
    always any food to eat, and rarely anything to drink."

    "Yes," said Monte Cristo; "but, unfortunately, a recipe
    excellent for a man like myself would be very dangerous
    applied to an army, which might not awake when it was
    needed."

    "May we inquire what is this recipe?" asked Debray.

    "Oh, yes," returned Monte Cristo; "I make no secret of it.
    It is a mixture of excellent opium, which I fetched myself
    from Canton in order to have it pure, and the best hashish
    which grows in the East -- that is, between the Tigris and
    the Euphrates. These two ingredients are mixed in equal
    proportions, and formed into pills. Ten minutes after one is
    taken, the effect is produced. Ask Baron Franz d'Epinay; I
    think he tasted them one day."

    "Yes," replied Morcerf, "he said something about it to me."

    "But," said Beauchamp, who, as became a journalist, was very
    incredulous, "you always carry this drug about you?"

    "Always."

    "Would it be an indiscretion to ask to see those precious
    pills?" continued Beauchamp, hoping to take him at a
    disadvantage.

    "No, monsieur," returned the count; and he drew from his
    pocket a marvellous casket, formed out of a single emerald
    and closed by a golden lid which unscrewed and gave passage
    to a small greenish colored pellet about the size of a pea.
    This ball had an acrid and penetrating odor. There were four
    or five more in the emerald, which would contain about a
    dozen. The casket passed around the table, but it was more
    to examine the admirable emerald than to see the pills that
    it passed from hand to hand. "And is it your cook who
    prepares these pills?" asked Beauchamp.

    "Oh, no, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not thus
    betray my enjoyments to the vulgar. I am a tolerable
    chemist, and prepare my pills myself."

    "This is a magnificent emerald, and the largest I have ever
    seen," said Chateau-Renaud, "although my mother has some
    remarkable family jewels."

    "I had three similar ones," returned Monte Cristo. "I gave
    one to the Sultan, who mounted it in his sabre; another to
    our holy father the Pope, who had it set in his tiara,
    opposite to one nearly as large, though not so fine, given
    by the Emperor Napoleon to his predecessor, Pius VII. I kept
    the third for myself, and I had it hollowed out, which
    reduced its value, but rendered it more commodious for the
    purpose I intended." Every one looked at Monte Cristo with
    astonishment; he spoke with so much simplicity that it was
    evident he spoke the truth, or that he was mad. However, the
    sight of the emerald made them naturally incline to the
    former belief. "And what did these two sovereigns give you
    in exchange for these magnificent presents?" asked Debray.

    "The Sultan, the liberty of a woman," replied the Count;
    "the Pope, the life of a man; so that once in my life I have
    been as powerful as if heaven had brought me into the world
    on the steps of a throne."

    "And it was Peppino you saved, was it not?" cried Morcerf;
    "it was for him that you obtained pardon?"

    "Perhaps," returned the count, smiling.

    "My dear count, you have no idea what pleasure it gives me
    to hear you speak thus," said Morcerf. "I had announced you
    beforehand to my friends as an enchanter of the 'Arabian
    Nights,' a wizard of the Middle Ages; but the Parisians are
    so subtle in paradoxes that they mistake for caprices of the
    imagination the most incontestable truths, when these truths
    do not form a part of their daily existence. For example,
    here is Debray who reads, and Beauchamp who prints, every
    day, 'A member of the Jockey Club has been stopped and
    robbed on the Boulevard;' 'four persons have been
    assassinated in the Rue St. Denis' or 'the Faubourg St.
    Germain;' 'ten, fifteen, or twenty thieves, have been
    arrested in a cafe on the Boulevard du Temple, or in the
    Thermes de Julien,' -- and yet these same men deny the
    existence of the bandits in the Maremma, the Campagna di
    Romana, or the Pontine Marshes. Tell them yourself that I
    was taken by bandits, and that without your generous
    intercession I should now have been sleeping in the
    Catacombs of St. Sebastian, instead of receiving them in my
    humble abode in the Rue du Helder."

    "Ah," said Monte Cristo "you promised me never to mention
    that circumstance."

    "It was not I who made that promise," cried Morcerf; "it
    must have been some one else whom you have rescued in the
    same manner, and whom you have forgotten. Pray speak of it,
    for I shall not only, I trust, relate the little I do know,
    but also a great deal I do not know."

    "It seems to me," returned the count, smiling, "that you
    played a sufficiently important part to know as well as
    myself what happened."

    "Well, you promise me, if I tell all I know, to relate, in
    your turn, all that I do not know?"

    "That is but fair," replied Monte Cristo.

    "Well," said Morcerf, "for three days I believed myself the
    object of the attentions of a masque, whom I took for a
    descendant of Tullia or Poppoea, while I was simply the
    object of the attentions of a contadina, and I say contadina
    to avoid saying peasant girl. What I know is, that, like a
    fool, a greater fool than he of whom I spoke just now, I
    mistook for this peasant girl a young bandit of fifteen or
    sixteen, with a beardless chin and slim waist, and who, just
    as I was about to imprint a chaste salute on his lips,
    placed a pistol to my head, and, aided by seven or eight
    others, led, or rather dragged me, to the Catacombs of St.
    Sebastian, where I found a highly educated brigand chief
    perusing Caesar's 'Commentaries,' and who deigned to leave
    off reading to inform me, that unless the next morning,
    before six o'clock, four thousand piastres were paid into
    his account at his banker's, at a quarter past six I should
    have ceased to exist. The letter is still to be seen, for it
    is in Franz d'Epinay's possession, signed by me, and with a
    postscript of M. Luigi Vampa. This is all I know, but I know
    not, count, how you contrived to inspire so much respect in
    the bandits of Rome who ordinarily have so little respect
    for anything. I assure you, Franz and I were lost in
    admiration."

    "Nothing more simple," returned the count. "I had known the
    famous Vampa for more than ten years. When he was quite a
    child, and only a shepherd, I gave him a few gold pieces for
    showing me my way, and he, in order to repay me, gave me a
    poniard, the hilt of which he had carved with his own hand,
    and which you may have seen in my collection of arms. In
    after years, whether he had forgotten this interchange of
    presents, which ought to have cemented our friendship, or
    whether he did not recollect me, he sought to take me, but,
    on the contrary, it was I who captured him and a dozen of
    his band. I might have handed him over to Roman justice,
    which is somewhat expeditious, and which would have been
    particularly so with him; but I did nothing of the sort -- I
    suffered him and his band to depart."

    "With the condition that they should sin no more," said
    Beauchamp, laughing. "I see they kept their promise."

    "No, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo "upon the simple
    condition that they should respect myself and my friends.
    Perhaps what I am about to say may seem strange to you, who
    are socialists, and vaunt humanity and your duty to your
    neighbor, but I never seek to protect a society which does
    not protect me, and which I will even say, generally
    occupies itself about me only to injure me; and thus by
    giving them a low place in my esteem, and preserving a
    neutrality towards them, it is society and my neighbor who
    are indebted to me."

    "Bravo," cried Chateau-Renaud; "you are the first man I ever
    met sufficiently courageous to preach egotism. Bravo, count,
    bravo!"

    "It is frank, at least," said Morrel. "But I am sure that
    the count does not regret having once deviated from the
    principles he has so boldly avowed."

    "How have I deviated from those principles, monsieur?" asked
    Monte Cristo, who could not help looking at Morrel with so
    much intensity, that two or three times the young man had
    been unable to sustain that clear and piercing glance.

    "Why, it seems to me," replied Morrel, "that in delivering
    M. de Morcerf, whom you did not know, you did good to your
    neighbor and to society."

    "Of which he is the brightest ornament," said Beauchamp,
    drinking off a glass of champagne.

    "My dear count," cried Morcerf, "you are at fault -- you,
    one of the most formidable logicians I know -- and you must
    see it clearly proved that instead of being an egotist, you
    are a philanthropist. Ah, you call yourself Oriental, a
    Levantine, Maltese, Indian, Chinese; your family name is
    Monte Cristo; Sinbad the Sailor is your baptismal
    appellation, and yet the first day you set foot in Paris you
    instinctively display the greatest virtue, or rather the
    chief defect, of us eccentric Parisians, -- that is, you
    assume the vices you have not, and conceal the virtues you
    possess."

    "My dear vicomte," returned Monte Cristo, "I do not see, in
    all I have done, anything that merits, either from you or
    these gentlemen, the pretended eulogies I have received. You
    were no stranger to me, for I knew you from the time I gave
    up two rooms to you, invited you to breakfast with me, lent
    you one of my carriages, witnessed the Carnival in your
    company, and saw with you from a window in the Piazza del
    Popolo the execution that affected you so much that you
    nearly fainted. I will appeal to any of these gentlemen,
    could I leave my guest in the hands of a hideous bandit, as
    you term him? Besides, you know, I had the idea that you
    could introduce me into some of the Paris salons when I came
    to France. You might some time ago have looked upon this
    resolution as a vague project, but to-day you see it was a
    reality, and you must submit to it under penalty of breaking
    your word."

    "I will keep it," returned Morcerf; "but I fear that you
    will be much disappointed, accustomed as you are to
    picturesque events and fantastic horizons. Amongst us you
    will not meet with any of those episodes with which your
    adventurous existence has so familiarized you; our
    Chimborazo is Mortmartre, our Himalaya is Mount Valerien,
    our Great Desert is the plain of Grenelle, where they are
    now boring an artesian well to water the caravans. We have
    plenty of thieves, though not so many as is said; but these
    thieves stand in far more dread of a policeman than a lord.
    France is so prosaic, and Paris so civilized a city, that
    you will not find in its eighty-five departments -- I say
    eighty-five, because I do not include Corsica -- you will
    not find, then, in these eighty-five departments a single
    hill on which there is not a telegraph, or a grotto in which
    the commissary of police has not put up a gaslamp. There is
    but one service I can render you, and for that I place
    myself entirely at your orders, that is, to present, or make
    my friends present, you everywhere; besides, you have no
    need of any one to introduce you -- with your name, and your
    fortune, and your talent" (Monte Cristo bowed with a
    somewhat ironical smile) "you can present yourself
    everywhere, and be well received. I can be useful in one way
    only -- if knowledge of Parisian habits, of the means of
    rendering yourself comfortable, or of the bazaars, can
    assist, you may depend upon me to find you a fitting
    dwelling here. I do not dare offer to share my apartments
    with you, as I shared yours at Rome -- I, who do not profess
    egotism, but am yet egotist par excellence; for, except
    myself, these rooms would not hold a shadow more, unless
    that shadow were feminine."

    "Ah," said the count, "that is a most conjugal reservation;
    I recollect that at Rome you said something of a projected
    marriage. May I congratulate you?"

    "The affair is still in projection."

    "And he who says in 'projection,' means already decided,"
    said Debray.

    "No," replied Morcerf, "my father is most anxious about it;
    and I hope, ere long, to introduce you, if not to my wife,
    at least to my betrothed -- Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars."

    "Eugenie Danglars," said Monte Cristo; "tell me, is not her
    father Baron Danglars?"

    "Yes," returned Morcerf, "a baron of a new creation."

    "What matter," said Monte Cristo "if he has rendered the
    State services which merit this distinction?"

    "Enormous ones," answered Beauchamp. "Although in reality a
    Liberal, he negotiated a loan of six millions for Charles
    X., in 1829, who made him a baron and chevalier of the
    Legion of Honor; so that he wears the ribbon, not, as you
    would think, in his waistcoat-pocket, but at his
    button-hole."

    "Ah," interrupted Morcerf, laughing, "Beauchamp, Beauchamp,
    keep that for the Corsaire or the Charivari, but spare my
    future father-in-law before me." Then, turning to Monte
    Cristo, "You just now spoke his name as if you knew the
    baron?"

    "I do not know him," returned Monte Cristo; "but I shall
    probably soon make his acquaintance, for I have a credit
    opened with him by the house of Richard & Blount, of London,
    Arstein & Eskeles of Vienna, and Thomson & French at Rome."
    As he pronounced the two last names, the count glanced at
    Maximilian Morrel. If the stranger expected to produce an
    effect on Morrel, he was not mistaken -- Maximilian started
    as if he had been electrified. "Thomson & French," said he;
    "do you know this house, monsieur?"

    "They are my bankers in the capital of the Christian world,"
    returned the count quietly. "Can my influence with them be
    of any service to you?"

    "Oh, count, you could assist me perhaps in researches which
    have been, up to the present, fruitless. This house, in past
    years, did ours a great service, and has, I know not for
    what reason, always denied having rendered us this service."

    "I shall be at your orders," said Monte Cristo bowing.

    "But," continued Morcerf, "a propos of Danglars, -- we have
    strangely wandered from the subject. We were speaking of a
    suitable habitation for the Count of Monte Cristo. Come,
    gentlemen, let us all propose some place. Where shall we
    lodge this new guest in our great capital?"

    "Faubourg Saint-Germain," said Chateau-Renaud. "The count
    will find there a charming hotel, with a court and garden."

    "Bah, Chateau-Renaud," returned Debray, "you only know your
    dull and gloomy Faubourg Saint-Germain; do not pay any
    attention to him, count -- live in the Chaussee d'Antin,
    that's the real centre of Paris."

    "Boulevard de l'Opera," said Beauchamp; "the second floor --
    a house with a balcony. The count will have his cushions of
    silver cloth brought there, and as he smokes his chibouque,
    see all Paris pass before him."

    "You have no idea, then, Morrel?" asked Chateau-Renaud; "you
    do not propose anything."

    "Oh, yes," returned the young man, smiling; "on the
    contrary, I have one, but I expected the count would be
    tempted by one of the brilliant proposals made him, yet as
    he has not replied to any of them, I will venture to offer
    him a suite of apartments in a charming hotel, in the
    Pompadour style, that my sister has inhabited for a year, in
    the Rue Meslay."

    "You have a sister?" asked the count.

    "Yes, monsieur, a most excellent sister."

    "Married?"

    "Nearly nine years."

    "Happy?" asked the count again.

    "As happy as it is permitted to a human creature to be,"
    replied Maximilian. "She married the man she loved, who
    remained faithful to us in our fallen fortunes -- Emmanuel
    Herbaut." Monte Cristo smiled imperceptibly. "I live there
    during my leave of absence," continued Maximilian; "and I
    shall be, together with my brother-in-law Emmanuel, at the
    disposition of the Count, whenever he thinks fit to honor
    us."

    "One minute," cried Albert, without giving Monte Cristo the
    time to reply. "Take care, you are going to immure a
    traveller, Sinbad the Sailor, a man who comes to see Paris;
    you are going to make a patriarch of him."

    "Oh, no," said Morrel; "my sister is five and twenty, my
    brother-in-law is thirty, they are gay, young, and happy.
    Besides, the count will be in his own house, and only see
    them when he thinks fit to do so."

    "Thanks, monsieur," said Monte Cristo; "I shall content
    myself with being presented to your sister and her husband,
    if you will do me the honor to introduce me; but I cannot
    accept the offer of any one of these gentlemen, since my
    habitation is already prepared."

    "What," cried Morcerf; "you are, then, going to an hotel --
    that will be very dull for you."

    "Was I so badly lodged at Rome?" said Monte Cristo smiling.

    "Parbleu, at Rome you spent fifty thousand piastres in
    furnishing your apartments, but I presume that you are not
    disposed to spend a similar sum every day."

    "It is not that which deterred me," replied Monte Cristo;
    "but as I determined to have a house to myself, I sent on my
    valet de chambre, and he ought by this time to have bought
    the house and furnished it."

    "But you have, then, a valet de chambre who knows Paris?"
    said Beauchamp.

    "It is the first time he has ever been in Paris. He is
    black, and cannot speak," returned Monte Cristo.

    "It is Ali!" cried Albert, in the midst of the general
    surprise.

    "Yes, Ali himself, my Nubian mute, whom you saw, I think, at
    Rome."

    "Certainly," said Morcerf; "I recollect him perfectly. But
    how could you charge a Nubian to purchase a house, and a
    mute to furnish it? -- he will do everything wrong."

    "Undeceive yourself, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo; "I am
    quite sure, that, on the contrary, he will choose everything
    as I wish. He knows my tastes, my caprices, my wants. He has
    been here a week, with the instinct of a hound, hunting by
    himself. He will arrange everything for me. He knew, that I
    should arrive to-day at ten o'clock; he was waiting for me
    at nine at the Barriere de Fontainebleau. He gave me this
    paper; it contains the number of my new abode; read it
    yourself," and Monte Cristo passed a paper to Albert. "Ah,
    that is really original," said Beauchamp.

    "And very princely," added Chateau-Renaud.

    "What, do you not know your house?" asked Debray.

    "No," said Monte Cristo; "I told you I did not wish to be
    behind my time; I dressed myself in the carriage, and
    descended at the viscount's door." The young men looked at
    each other; they did not know if it was a comedy Monte
    Cristo was playing, but every word he uttered had such an
    air of simplicity, that it was impossible to suppose what he
    said was false -- besides, why should he tell a falsehood?
    "We must content ourselves, then," said Beauchamp, "with
    rendering the count all the little services in our power. I,
    in my quality of journalist, open all the theatres to him."

    "Thanks, monsieur," returned Monte Cristo, "my steward has
    orders to take a box at each theatre."

    "Is your steward also a Nubian?" asked Debray.

    "No, he is a countryman of yours, if a Corsican is a
    countryman of any one's. But you know him, M. de Morcerf."

    "Is it that excellent M. Bertuccio, who understands hiring
    windows so well?"

    "Yes, you saw him the day I had the honor of receiving you;
    he has been a soldier, a smuggler -- in fact, everything. I
    would not be quite sure that he has not been mixed up with
    the police for some trifle -- a stab with a knife, for
    instance."

    "And you have chosen this honest citizen for your steward,"
    said Debray. "Of how much does he rob you every year?"

    "On my word," replied the count, "not more than another. I
    am sure he answers my purpose, knows no impossibility, and
    so I keep him."

    "Then," continued Chateau-Renaud, "since you have an
    establishment, a steward, and a hotel in the Champs Elysees,
    you only want a mistress." Albert smiled. He thought of the
    fair Greek he had seen in the count's box at the Argentina
    and Valle theatres. "I have something better than that,"
    said Monte Cristo; "I have a slave. You procure your
    mistresses from the opera, the Vaudeville, or the Varietes;
    I purchased mine at Constantinople; it cost me more, but I
    have nothing to fear."

    "But you forget," replied Debray, laughing, "that we are
    Franks by name and franks by nature, as King Charles said,
    and that the moment she puts her foot in France your slave
    becomes free."

    "Who will tell her?"

    "The first person who sees her."

    "She only speaks Romaic."

    "That is different."

    "But at least we shall see her," said Beauchamp, "or do you
    keep eunuchs as well as mutes?"

    "Oh, no," replied Monte Cristo; "I do not carry brutalism so
    far. Every one who surrounds me is free to quit me, and when
    they leave me will no longer have any need of me or any one
    else; it is for that reason, perhaps, that they do not quit
    me." They had long since passed to dessert and cigars.

    "My dear Albert," said Debray, rising, "it is half-past two.
    Your guest is charming, but you leave the best company to go
    into the worst sometimes. I must return to the minister's. I
    will tell him of the count, and we shall soon know who he
    is."

    "Take care," returned Albert; "no one has been able to
    accomplish that."

    "Oh, we have three millions for our police; it is true they
    are almost always spent beforehand, but, no matter, we shall
    still have fifty thousand francs to spend for this purpose."

    "And when you know, will you tell me?"

    "I promise you. Au revoir, Albert. Gentlemen, good morning."

    As he left the room, Debray called out loudly, "My
    carriage."

    "Bravo," said Beauchamp to Albert; "I shall not go to the
    Chamber, but I have something better to offer my readers
    than a speech of M. Danglars."

    "For heaven's sake, Beauchamp," returned Morcerf, "do not
    deprive me of the merit of introducing him everywhere. Is he
    not peculiar?"

    "He is more than that," replied Chateau-Renaud; "he is one
    of the most extraordinary men I ever saw in my life. Are you
    coming, Morrel?"

    "Directly I have given my card to the count, who has
    promised to pay us a visit at Rue Meslay, No. 14."

    "Be sure I shall not fail to do so," returned the count,
    bowing. And Maximilian Morrel left the room with the Baron
    de Chateau-Renaud, leaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.
    Next Chapter
    Chapter 40
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