Hardly had Albert brought his mother home than he called for a bath and then his horses. After allowing his valet to attend to him, he had himself driven to the Champs-Elysées, to the Count of Monte Cristo's.

The same day, at about the time when Mme Danglars was engaged as we have seen in the study of the crown prosecutor, a travelling coach drove into the Rue du Helder, through the gate of No. 27 and into the courtyard, where it stopped. After a moment the door opened and Mme de Morcerf stepped down, leaning on her son's arm.

Morcerf was running over to him with open arms, but, on seeing him, despite the count's friendly smile, he let his arms fall and dared at most to offer his hand. The count touched it, as he always did, but without shaking it.

"Well, my dear Count, here I am," Morcerf said.

The count greeted him with his usual smile. It was a strange thing: one never appeared to take a step forward in the heart or mind of this man. Those who wished, so to speak, to force their way into intimacy with him found the path blocked.

"News! You are asking me, a foreigner, for news!"

"Easy. Monsieur Danglars had dinner with me."

"And you are the first person I have visited."

"From Le Tréport."

"Oh, yes. That's right."

"Did you give me some job to do?" the count said, with a pretence of concern.

"Really? Elucidate, I beg you."

"When I ask for news, I mean: have you done anything for me?"

"I have just got back."

"Welcome."

"Well, then. What news?"

"Come now," said Albert. "Don't pretend not to care. They say that there are sympathetic warnings that cross distances: well, in Le Tréport, I had an electric shock. Even if you didn't do anything on my behalf, you did think of me."

"From Dieppe?"

"That's charming of you," said Monte Cristo, as casually as he might have said anything.

"That's possible," Monte Cristo said. "I did, indeed, think of you. But the magnetic current which I served to conduct was, I have to admit, generated independently of my will."

"I know, because the reason my mother and I left Paris was to avoid him."

"Too bad."

"My dear Count, if they didn't mention me, that means that they must have thought about me a lot, so I'm at my wits' end."

"Come now, you are behaving strangely! So then?"

"As you say."

"Why? I would have thought that, in forgetting you, they did only what you wanted."

"And he dined with Monsieur Andrea Cavalcanti."

"Yes."

"Your Italian prince?"

"What does it matter, since Mademoiselle Danglars was not here among those who were thinking about you? True, she might have thought about you at home."

"Then, what?"

"With Viscount Andrea Cavalcanti, his father the marquis, Madame Danglars, Monsieur and Madame de Villefort, and some delightful people: Monsieur Debray, Maxmilien Morrel… and who else? Wait… Oh, yes, Monsieur de Château-Renaud."

"With your Viscount Andrea Cavalcanti?"

"How do I know? He awards himself, I award him, they award him: isn't that all the same as if he had it?"

"Not once."

"Let's not exaggerate. Monsieur Andrea only awards himself the title of viscount."

"Monsieur Danglars dined here?"

"Awards himself?"

"Was my name mentioned?"

"So he isn't one?"

"How charming, this meeting of minds. So you hate one another?"

"Oh, no. I'm quite sure of that. Or if she did, it was in the same way that I think of her."

"Please don't misunderstand me," said Morcerf. "If Mademoiselle Danglars were the sort of woman to sympathize with the torments I am not enduring on her behalf and to recompense me outside the provisions of the marriage contract drawn up between our two families, I should be delighted with the arrangement. In short, I think Mademoiselle Danglars would make a charming mistress, but as a wife, good God!"

"So that's how you envisage your future?" Monte Cristo said with a laugh.

"Yes. When all's said and done, it is. Slightly brutal, I realize, but accurate. But, since this dream can never come true and since, for me to reach a particular goal, Mademoiselle Danglars must become my wife -- that is to say, live with me, think beside me, sing near me, write verses and make music a few yards away from me, and all this for the rest of my life -- then I am appalled at the prospect. You can leave a mistress, Count, but a wife… Huh! That's a different matter entirely: a wife is for eternity, whether close by or at a distance. The idea of having Mademoiselle Danglars for ever is terrifying -- even at a distance."

"Yes, because I dream of something impossible."

"Which is?"

"Finding a wife for myself like the one my father found."

"You're fussy, Viscount."

The colour drained from Monte Cristo's cheeks and he watched Albert, while toying with some magnificent pistols, rapidly cocking them, then releasing the springs.

"So, your father has been a happy man," he said.

"Which is precisely why, knowing that there is one accomplished woman in the world, I'm not anxious to marry Mademoiselle Danglars. Have you noticed how our egoism paints everything that belongs to us in brilliant hues? The diamond that sparkled in the windows of Marlé or Fossin becomes much lovelier once it is our diamond; but if circumstances force you to acknowledge that there is a still finer one and you are condemned for ever to wear this diamond which is inferior to the other, do you understand what torture that is?"

"You know how I feel about my mother, Count: she is an angel, still beautiful, still witty, finer than ever. I have just come back from Le Tréport. Now, for any other son, just imagine: travelling with his mother would be an act of kindness or an unavoidable burden. Yet I have just spent four days with mine in Le Tréport and I can tell you they were more satisfying, more relaxing and more poetical than if I had been with Queen Mab or Titania."

"Anyone would despair of rivalling such perfection. You will make anyone who hears you wish seriously to remain a bachelor."

"And that's why I shall be jumping for joy on the day when Mademoiselle Eugénie notices that I am only a puny little atom, possessing hardly as many hundreds of thousands of francs as she has millions."

"Snob!" the count muttered.

Monte Cristo smiled.

"I did have another idea," Albert went on. "Franz likes odd things, so I tried to make him fall in love with Mademoiselle Danglars, in spite of himself. I wrote him four letters in the most enticing of styles, but he always gave me the same answer: 'I may be eccentric, it's true, but my eccentricity does not extend to breaking my word once I have given it.'"

"Now, there's what I call true friendship: giving another person as wife the woman one only wants for oneself as a mistress."

Albert smiled. "Incidentally," he said, "dear Franz is on his way home; but that doesn't bother you. You don't like him, do you?"

"I am included in everybody. Thank you."

"What! My dear Viscount, whatever told you that I don't like Monsieur Franz? I like everybody."

"Oh, don't misunderstand me," said Monte Cristo. "I like everybody in the way that God ordered us to love our neighbours, that is, in Christian charity. I only bestow true hatred on certain people. But to get back to Franz d'Epinay: he is coming home, you say?"

"More than that, he takes it seriously. He puts on white ties and is already talking about his family. And he holds the Villeforts in high esteem."

"But Monsieur d'Epinay is not like you. He is reconciled to his fate."

"I think so. Monsieur de Villefort has always been considered a strict but just man."

"Deservedly, no doubt?"

"Yes, on the instructions of Monsieur de Villefort, who is as mad keen to marry off Mademoiselle Valentine, apparently, as Monsieur Danglars is to marry off Mademoiselle Eugénie. It really does appear that being the father of grown-up girls is one of the most exhausting states. As far as I can see, their temperature soars and their pulses beat ninety to the minute until they have disposed of them."

"Perhaps that's because I'm not obliged to marry his daughter," Albert said, laughing.

"Yes, you. Have a cigar."

"At last," said Monte Cristo. "Here is someone at least whom you do not treat like poor Monsieur Danglars."

"Really, my dear sir," said Monte Cristo, "you are disgustingly smug."

"I? Smug?"

"Because here you are shielding yourself and struggling not to marry Mademoiselle Danglars. Why not just let things take their course, and perhaps you won't be the first to take back your word."

"Huh, yes, Monsieur le Vicomte! What do you think of that? They won't tie you down by force. But, seriously," Monte Cristo said, in a different tone of voice, "do you want to break it off?"

"What?" Albert said, gawping.

"I'd give a hundred thousand francs if I could."

"Well, you'll be happy to know that Monsieur Danglars is prepared to give twice that amount to achieve the same end."

"How typical that is, you proud and self-absorbed creature! This is indeed the man who enjoys taking an axe to the self-esteem of others, but cries out when a needle touches his own."

"Thank you. So why am I smug?"

"What happiness! Can it be true?" Albert exclaimed, but was unable, in spite of that, to prevent a faint cloud from passing across his brow. "My dear Count, does Monsieur Danglars have some reason for that?"

"No, no. I just think that Monsieur Danglars…"

"Not bad… You know, these are thoroughbred events: people who stay in Paris in July are real Parisians. Would you be good enough to invite Monsieur Cavalcanti?"

"I don't know. Look carefully, catch every hint as it goes past and profit by what you learn."

"Listen, Viscount, I don't know him…"

"The elder Cavalcanti will have left by then."

"But not the son, so perhaps you could bring the younger Cavalcanti?"

"Who is that?"

"When will this ball take place?"

"Even if they weren't, the countess would only have to wish it and they would become so."

"Should be delighted to have you as a son-in-law; isn't that it? Well, now, Monsieur Danglars is a man of poor taste, we all know, and he is still more delighted by someone else…"

"Good! I understand. Listen, my mother… No, not my mother, I'm wrong. My father had the idea of giving a ball."

"Summer balls are in fashion."

"You don't know him?"

"On Saturday."

"No. I met him for the first time three or four days ago, and I can't answer for him at all."

"A ball at this time of year?"

"Go where?"

"First of all, you haven't invited me yet."

"I came especially to deliver the invitation."

"What is that?"

"That's different. He was recommended to me by a good abbé, who might have been mistaken himself. Invite him indirectly, certainly, but don't ask me to introduce him to you. If he was later to marry Mademoiselle Danglars, you would accuse me of manipulation and you would have a bone to pick with me. In any case, I'm not sure that I'll go myself."

"The Comtesse de Morcerf?" Monte Cristo said with a shudder.

"But you invite him here!"

"I have only to tell you one thing, and I think you will be good enough to forgo any prior engagement."

"That's too kind. But suppose I have another engagement."

"Why on earth not?"

"My mother begs you to come."

"I warn you, Count, Madame de Morcerf speaks to me quite freely; and if you did not feel those sympathetic fibres I mentioned just now crackling inside you, that means that you are entirely devoid of them, because you were our only subject of conversation in the past four days."

"To your ball."

"I was? I am overwhelmed."

"Listen, this is a privilege of your profession: when one is a living enigma…"

"An enigma, my dear Count, an enigma for everyone, my mother as well as the rest. As long as the mystery has been recognized but not solved, you will remain an enigma, don't worry. My mother is only puzzled by the fact that you seem so young. I think, underneath, that whereas Countess G -- thinks you are Lord Ruthwen, my mother takes you for Cagliostro or the Comte de Saint-Germain. The first time you meet Madame de Morcerf, you must confirm her in that impression. It shouldn't be difficult: you have the wit of one and the philosopher's stone of the other."

"Thank you for warning me," the count said, smiling. "I shall try to live up to all expectations."

"So you will come on Saturday?"

"Since Madame de Morcerf requests my company."

"And Monsieur Danglars?"

"You are charming."

"Ah, so I'm also an enigma for your mother? Quite honestly, I should have thought her too sensible to indulge in such flights of fancy."

"No, never. You can talk. She so much wants to talk to you."

"It was indiscreet of me to tell you about Monsieur Danglars."

"Really?"

"Do you dance, my dear Count?"

"Well, I suppose, while one is still under forty. But no, I don't dance. However, I like to watch others. Does Madame de Morcerf dance?"

"Well, you make me feel better about it. So when is Monsieur d'Epinay arriving back?"

"One must never give up hope, the proverb says."

"Yes, you. Why not?"

"I give you my word. And I must tell you, you are the first man about whom my mother has shown such curiosity."

Albert took his hat and got up. The count accompanied him to the door. Stopping at the top of the steps, he said: "I was wrong about one thing."

"Do I dance?"

"On the contrary, please keep telling me, talk about him as much as you like, as long as the message remains the same."

"What was that?"

"Oh, he's already had a triple invitation. My father looked after that. We shall also try to have The Great Daguesseau, Monsieur de Villefort, but I don't expect we shall succeed."

"She went to the law courts," the steward answered.

"Very good," said the count. "And now, my dear Monsieur Bertuccio, if I have a piece of advice for you, it is to go to Normandy and see if you can't find the little estate I mentioned."

"And when is he getting married?"

"Until Saturday, at least -- it's agreed?"

The count watched and waved. Then, when Albert had got into his phaeton, he turned around and saw Bertuccio behind him. "Well?" he asked.

"Of course! I've given my word."

"In five or six days at the latest."

"Au revoir!"

"Very well, m'lud. Your orders shall be carried out."

"When he gets to Paris, bring him to see me. Even though you say that I don't like him, I assure you I shall be happy to see him."

"Without stopping."

"Did she stay long?"

Bertuccio bowed and, the count's command being entirely coincidental with his own wishes, left that very evening.

"An hour and a half."

"As soon as Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Méran are here."

"Then returned home?"