The Count of Monte Cristo + The Three Musketeers + The Man in the Iron Mask (3 Unabridged Classics). Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ I suppose that M. Bertuccio has suitably employed the four hours and a half I have given him, and that I shall find a carriage of some sort ready at the door.” Albert was used to the count’s manner of proceeding; he knew that, like Nero, he was in search of the impossible, and nothing astonished him, but wishing to judge with his own eyes how far the count’s orders had been executed, he accompanied him to the door of the house. Monte Cristo was not deceived. As soon as he appeared in the Count of Morcerf’s antechamber, a footman, the same who at Rome had brought the count’s card to the two young men, and announced his visit, sprang into the vestibule, and when he arrived at the door the illustrious traveller found his carriage awaiting him. It was a coupe of Koller’s building, and with horses and harness for which Drake had, to the knowledge of all the lions of Paris, refused on the previous day seven hundred guineas. “Monsieur,” said the count to Albert, “I do not ask you to accompany me to my house, as I can only show you a habitation fitted up in a hurry, and I have, as you know, a reputation to keep up as regards not being taken by surprise. Give me, therefore, one more day before I invite you; I shall then be certain not to fail in my hospitality.”

      “If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate; it will not be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have decidedly some genius at your control.”

      “Ma foi, spread that idea,” replied the Count of Monte Cristo, putting his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid carriage, “and that will be worth something to me among the ladies.” As he spoke, he sprang into the vehicle, the door was closed, but not so rapidly that Monte Cristo failed to perceive the almost imperceptible movement which stirred the curtains of the apartment in which he had left Madame de Morcerf. When Albert returned to his mother, he found her in the boudoir reclining in a large velvet armchair, the whole room so obscure that only the shining spangle, fastened here and there to the drapery, and the angles of the gilded frames of the pictures, showed with some degree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see the face of the countess, as it was covered with a thin veil she had put on her head, and which fell over her features in misty folds, but it seemed to him as though her voice had altered. He could distinguish amid the perfumes of the roses and heliotropes in the flower-stands, the sharp and fragrant odor of volatile salts, and he noticed in one of the chased cups on the mantle-piece the countess’s smelling-bottle, taken from its shagreen case, and exclaimed in a tone of uneasiness, as he entered, — “My dear mother, have you been ill during my absence?”

      “No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and orange-flowers throw out at first, before one is used to them, such violent perfumes.”

      “Then, my dear mother,” said Albert, putting his hand to the bell, “they must be taken into the antechamber. You are really ill, and just now were so pale as you came into the room” —

      “Was I pale, Albert?”

      “Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which did not the less alarm my father and myself.”

      “Did your father speak of it?” inquired Mercedes eagerly.

      “No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact to you?”

      “Yes, I do remember,” replied the countess. A servant entered, summoned by Albert’s ring of the bell. “Take these flowers into the anteroom or dressing-room,” said the viscount; “they make the countess ill.” The footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued, which lasted until all the flowers were removed. “What is this name of Monte Cristo?” inquired the countess, when the servant had taken away the last vase of flowers, “is it a family name, or the name of the estate, or a simple title?”

      “I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an island in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has founded a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint Stephen of Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to nobility, and calls himself a chance count, although the general opinion at Rome is that the count is a man of very high distinction.”

      “His manners are admirable,” said the countess, “at least, as far as I could judge in the few minutes he remained here.”

      “They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far all I have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest nobilities of Europe — the English, the Spanish, and the German.” The countess paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she resumed, — “You have seen, my dear Albert — I ask the question as a mother — you have seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are quicksighted, have much knowledge of the world, more tact than is usual at your age, do you think the count is really what he appears to be?”

      “What does he appear to be?”

      “Why, you have just said, — a man of high distinction.”

      “I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such.”

      “But what is your own opinion, Albert?”

      “I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion respecting him, but I think him a Maltese.”

      “I do not ask you of his origin but what he is.”

      “Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so many remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say what I think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron’s heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient family, who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by the force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them above the laws of society.”

      “You say” —

      “I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the Mediterranean, without inhabitants or garrison, the resort of smugglers of all nations, and pirates of every flag. Who knows whether or not these industrious worthies do not pay to their feudal lord some dues for his protection?”

      “That is possible,” said the countess, reflecting.

      “Never mind,” continued the young man, “smuggler or not, you must agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of Monte Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have the greatest success in the salons of Paris. Why, this very morning, in my rooms, he made his entree amongst us by striking every man of us with amazement, not even excepting Chateau-Renaud.”

      “And what do you suppose is the count’s age?” inquired Mercedes, evidently attaching great importance to this question.

      “Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother.”

      “So young, — it is impossible,” said Mercedes, replying at the same time to what Albert said as well as to her own private reflection.

      “It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to me, and certainly without the slightest premeditation, `at such a period I was five years old, at another ten years old, at another twelve,’ and I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these details, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate. The age of this singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five. Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-black his hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free from wrinkles, — he is not only vigorous, but also young.” The countess bent her head, as if beneath a heavy wave of bitter thoughts. “And has this man displayed a friendship for you, Albert?” she asked with a nervous shudder.

      “I am inclined to think so.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ