The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (103 page)

‘Believe me, Madame,’ Albert replied, ‘had I been informed of your arrival in Paris and known your address, I should not have waited so long. But permit me to introduce Monsieur le Baron de Château-Renaud, my friend and one of the few gentlemen left in France, who has just told me that you were at the races on the Champ-de-Mars.’

Château-Renaud bowed.

‘You were at the races then, Monsieur?’ the countess enquired, examining him with interest.

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘Very well,’ she asked. ‘Can you tell me whose was the horse that won the Prix du Jockey-Club?’

‘I regret not, Madame,’ said Château-Renaud. ‘I was just asking Albert the same question.’

‘Do you insist, Countess?’ asked Albert.

‘On what?’

‘On knowing the owner of the horse?’

‘Absolutely. I must tell you… But would you happen to know, Viscount?’

‘Madame, you were about to begin a story. “I must tell you…”, you said.’

‘Well, I must tell you that that charming chestnut horse and the pretty little jockey in his pink cap appealed to me so much from the first moment I saw them that I was making a wish for them both, just as though I had bet half my fortune on them. So, when I saw them pass the post three lengths ahead of the other runners, I was so happy that I started to clap my hands like a madwoman. Imagine my astonishment when, on arriving home, I met the little pink jockey on the staircase! I thought that the winner of the race must chance to live in the same house as I, when, on opening the door of my drawing-room, the first thing I saw was the gold cup,
the prize won by the unknown horse and jockey. Inside it was a little scrap of paper with the following words: “To Countess G—, Lord Ruthwen”.’

‘Precisely!’ said Morcerf.

‘What do you mean, “precisely”?’

‘I mean, it was Lord Ruthwen himself.’

‘What Lord Ruthwen?’

‘Ours, the vampire, the one from the Teatro Argentina.’

‘Really!’ the countess exclaimed. ‘Is he here?’

‘Indeed he is.’

‘And you see him? You receive him? You visit him?’

‘We are close friends; even Monsieur de Château-Renaud here has the honour of knowing him.’

‘What makes you think that he was the winner?’

‘His horse ran under the name Vampa.’

‘So?’

‘Don’t you remember the name of the famous bandit who took me prisoner?’

‘Of course!’

‘From whose hands the count miraculously saved me?’

‘Indeed…’

‘His name was Vampa. So, you see, it must be him.’

‘But why did he send me the cup?’

‘First of all, Countess, because I often mentioned you to him, as you may well imagine. Then, because he was delighted at finding a compatriot and pleased by the interest that this compatriot took in him.’

‘I hope you never told him of the silly things we used to say about him!’

‘I can’t swear it… And, in fact, this idea of giving you the cup under the name of Lord Ruthwen…’

‘This is terrible! He will be fearfully angry with me.’

‘Is he behaving as if he was?’

‘No, admittedly…’

‘Well, then!’

‘So, you’re telling me he’s in Paris?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what sort of a stir has he caused?’

‘Oh,’ said Albert, ‘they did talk about him for a week. Then there was the coronation of the Queen of England and the theft of
Mademoiselle Mars’ diamonds, and no one talked about anything else.’

‘My dear fellow,’ said Château-Renaud, ‘one can see that the count is your friend and you treat him accordingly. Don’t believe what Albert is saying, Countess, because the truth is that no one in Paris is talking about anything except the Count of Monte Cristo. The first thing he did was to send Madame Danglars some horses worth thirty thousand francs. Then he saved Madame de Villefort’s life, and now it appears he has won the Jockey-Club race. Despite what Morcerf says, I maintain that people are still talking about the count at the moment and that they will talk about him even more a month from now, if he carries on behaving in this eccentric manner – which appears, in the event, to be his normal way of carrying on.’

‘Maybe,’ said Morcerf. ‘Meanwhile, who has taken up the Russian ambassador’s box?’

‘Which?’ the countess asked.

‘The one between the columns, in the first tier. It looks as though it has been entirely done up.’

‘So it does,’ said Château-Renaud. ‘Was there someone there in the first act?’

‘Where?’

‘In that box?’

‘No,’ said the countess. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’ Then, returning to the original subject of the conversation: ‘You think that your Count of Monte Cristo won the prize?’

‘I’m certain of it.’

‘And sent me the cup?’

‘No doubt about it.’

‘But I don’t know him,’ said the countess. ‘I’m quite tempted to send it back.’

‘Oh, don’t do that! He would send you another, carved out of sapphire or rubies. He does those things. One must take him as he is.’

At that moment the bell rang to announce that the second act was about to begin. Albert got up to return to his place.

‘Shall I see you?’ the countess asked.

‘In the intervals, if you permit, I may come and find out if I can be of some use to you while you are in Paris.’

‘Gentlemen,’ the countess said, ‘I am at home to my friends every
Saturday evening at number twenty-two, Rue de Rivoli. So now you know.’ The two young men bowed and went out.

As they came back into the theatre, they saw everyone standing in the stalls, all eyes turned towards a single point in the room. They turned their own eyes in the same direction and stopped at what had once been the Russian ambassador’s box. A man in black, aged between thirty-five and forty, had just entered with a woman in oriental dress. The woman was strikingly beautiful and her costume so ornate that, as we said, all eyes were immediately fixed on her.

‘Well, well!’ said Albert. ‘It’s Monte Cristo and his Greek!’ It was indeed the count and Haydée.

A moment later the young woman was the object of attention not only from the stalls but throughout the theatre. Women were leaning out of their boxes to see the cascade of diamonds shining in the light of the chandeliers.

The second act was played against that dull murmuring which is the response of a large crowd to some great event. No one thought of shouting: ‘Silence!’ The woman, so young, so beautiful and so dazzling, was the most interesting spectacle to be had.

This time, a sign from Baroness Danglars clearly indicated to Albert that she wished him to call on her in the next interval. Morcerf was too well bred to keep someone waiting when they had shown that they wanted to speak to him, so, when the act ended, he hurried up to the box in the front of the house. There he greeted the two ladies and held out his hand to Debray. The baroness welcomed him with a charming smile and Eugénie with her habitual icy indifference.

‘My good fellow,’ said Debray, ‘you see before you a man at the end of his tether, begging you to assist him. Madame has been deluging me with questions about the count: what he is, where he comes from, where he is going… Dammit, I’m not Cagliostro! So, to get out of it, I said: “Ask Morcerf, he knows his Monte Cristo like the back of his hand.” That’s why we called you.’

‘Isn’t it incredible,’ said the baroness, ‘that someone with half a million in secret funds at his disposal can be so ill-informed?’

‘Madame,’ Lucien said, ‘please believe me when I tell you that, if I had half a million at my disposal, I should use it for some other purpose than making enquiries about Monsieur de Monte Cristo, who has no merit as far as I can see apart from being twice as rich
as a nabob. But I am handing over to my friend Morcerf. Settle it with him, it’s no longer my business.’

‘A nabob would certainly not have sent me a pair of horses worth thirty thousand francs, with four diamonds at their ears, each worth five thousand francs.’

‘Ah, diamonds!’ Morcerf said, laughing. ‘He has a passion for them. I think that, like Potemkin, he always has some in his pocket and spreads them along his path as Tom Thumb did with his pebbles.’

‘He must have found a diamond mine,’ said Mme Danglars. ‘Do you know that he has unlimited credit with the baron’s bank?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Albert replied. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me.’

‘And that he told Monsieur Danglars that he meant to stay a year in Paris and spend six millions?’

‘He must be the Shah of Persia travelling incognito.’

‘The woman, Monsieur Lucien,’ said Eugénie; ‘have you noticed how beautiful she is?’

‘Really, Mademoiselle, you are the only woman I know who is so generous in speaking about others of your own sex.’

Lucien put his eye-glass to his eye. ‘Delightful!’ he said.

‘Does Monsieur Morcerf know who she is?’

‘Mademoiselle,’ Albert said, in reply to this almost direct question, ‘I do know, more or less, as I more or less know everything relating to this mysterious personage. The young woman is Greek.’

‘It is easy to see that by her dress, so you’re telling me nothing that all the rest of the theatre doesn’t already know.’

‘I much regret,’ said Morcerf, ‘that I am such an ignorant guide, but I have to admit that my information goes no further than that – though I do also know that she is a musician, because one day, when I was lunching with the count, I heard the sound of a
guzla
which only she could have been playing.’

‘So he gives lunch, does he, your count?’ asked Mme Danglars.

‘Magnificently, believe me.’

‘I must urge Danglars to offer him a dinner or a ball; then he will invite us back.’

‘What! You would visit him?’ Debray said, laughing.

‘Why not? With my husband.’

‘But he is a bachelor, this mysterious count.’

‘Not at all, as you can plainly see,’ the baroness said, laughing in her turn and indicating the beautiful Greek.

‘The woman is a slave, as he told us himself. Do you remember, Morcerf, at your breakfast?’

‘You must admit, Lucien,’ said the baroness, ‘that she looks more like a princess.’

‘From the
Thousand and One Nights
.’

‘Agreed: from the
Thousand and One Nights
. But what makes a princess, my dear? Diamonds, and she’s covered in them.’

‘Too much so, in fact,’ said Eugénie. ‘She would be more beautiful without them, because you could see her neck and her wrists, which are delightfully shapely.’

‘There speaks the artist!’ said Mme Danglars. ‘See what an enthusiast she is!’

‘I love everything beautiful,’ said Eugénie.

‘So what do you think of the count?’ said Debray. ‘He strikes me as not too bad himself.’

‘The count?’ said Eugénie, as if she had not previously considered looking at him. ‘He’s very pale, your count.’

‘Precisely,’ said Morcerf. ‘The secret we are looking for lies in that pallor. You know, Countess G—claims he is a vampire.’

‘Countess G—? Is she back, then?’ asked the baroness.

‘In that side box,’ Eugénie said. ‘Look, mother, almost opposite us: she’s that woman with the magnificent blonde hair.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mme Danglars. ‘Morcerf, do you know what you should do?’

‘I am at your command, Madame.’

‘You should go and visit your Count of Monte Cristo and bring him back here.’

‘Why?’ asked Eugénie.

‘So that we can talk to him. Aren’t you curious to see him?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Peculiar child!’ the baroness muttered.

‘Look!’ said Morcerf. ‘He’ll probably come of his own accord. He’s seen you, Madame, and is bowing to you.’

The baroness returned the count’s greeting, together with a charming smile.

‘Very well, then,’ said Morcerf. ‘It’s up to me. I must leave you while I go and see if there is not some way of talking to him.’

‘Simple: go into his box.’

‘But I haven’t been introduced.’

‘To whom?’

‘To the beautiful Greek.’

‘Didn’t you say she was a slave?’

‘Yes, but you claim she is a princess… No, I hope that when he sees me go out, he will do the same.’

‘Perhaps. Off you go then.’

‘I am going.’

Morcerf bowed and left. As predicted, when he walked past the count’s box, the door opened. The count said a few words in Arabic to Ali, who stood in the corridor, and took Morcerf’s arm.

Ali shut the door and stood in front of it. People gathered around the Nubian in the corridor.

‘Really,’ Monte Cristo said, ‘Paris is an odd city and you Parisians an odd people. Anyone would think that this was the first time they had seen a Nubian. Look at them crowding round poor Ali, who doesn’t know what to make of it. I guarantee one thing, however, which is that a Parisian could go to Tunis, Constantinople, Baghdad or Cairo, and no crowd would gather around him.’