From the ground-floor rooms one could hear the blast of music and the swirling of the waltz and the gallop, while sharp bands of light shone out through the slats of the persian blinds. The garden, for the time being, was solely the province of a dozen or so servants, who had just been ordered to lay out the supper by their mistress, who was reassured at seeing the steady improvement in the weather. Until then, she had been unsure whether to eat in the dining-room or under a long canvas awning, set up above the lawn. But this lovely blue sky, full of stars, had now settled the issue in favour of the awning and the lawn.

The garden paths were lit by coloured lamps, as is the custom in Italy, and the supper table was laden with candles and flowers, as is the custom in all countries where they understand how to dress a table, which when properly done is the rarest of all luxuries.

The hottest days of July had come when the calendar arrived at the Saturday appointed for M. de Morcerf's ball. It was ten o'clock in the evening. The large trees in the count's garden were sharply outlined against a sky across which drifted the last tufts of cloud from the storm that had been threatening all day, to reveal an azure field sprinkled with golden stars.

Mme Danglars had been so deeply disturbed by the events we have described that she was reluctant to attend; but that morning her carriage had crossed Villefort's. The latter signalled to her, the two carriages pulled up alongside each other and the crown prosecutor said, through the window: "You are going to Madame de Morcerf's, I suppose?"

Just as the Countess de Morcerf had given her last orders and was returning indoors, the drawing-rooms began to fill with guests, attracted more by the countess's charming hospitality than by the distinguished position of the count. Everyone knew in advance that the party would supply them with some details which would either be worth relating or, in the event, copying, thanks to Mercédès' good taste.

"No," answered Mme Danglars. "I'm not well enough."

"Oh, do you think so?" the baroness asked.

"I do."

"Then I shall go."

"That is a mistake," Villefort said, with a significant look. "It is important for you to be seen there."

Then the two carriages had continued on their separate ways. However, Mme Danglars did come, looking beautiful not only with her own beauty, but dressed with dazzling extravagance. She was just coming in through one door when Mercédès entered by the other. The countess sent Albert to greet Mme Danglars, and he came forward, offered the baroness some well-deserved compliments on her dress and took her arm to lead her wherever she wanted to go. At the same time, he looked around.

"Don't worry. She met Mademoiselle de Villefort, who led her away. Look, they are there behind us, both in white dresses, one with a bouquet of camellias, the other with a bouquet of forget-me-nots… But tell me…"

"I mean that all is well," said the viscount, laughing, "and that you are the seventeenth person to ask me the same question. He's popular, the count! I must compliment him."

"And what are you looking for?" Albert asked, smiling.

"I confess I am. Surely you have not been so cruel as to leave her at home?"

"Really? And did the eccentric signore do anything out of the ordinary?"

"He was."

"What do you mean?"

"And do you answer everyone in the same way?"

"Ah! You're quite right! I didn't answer. Have no fear, Madame, we shall be privileged to receive the man of the moment."

"Are you looking for my daughter?" the baroness asked with a smile.

"Were you at the opera yesterday?"

"Can he appear in public otherwise? Elssler was dancing in Le Diable boiteux; the Greek princess was delighted. After the cachucha, he slipped a superb ring on the stems of a bouquet and threw it to the delightful ballerina, who reappeared in the third act with the ring on her finger, as a tribute to him. Will his Greek princess be here?"

"No."

"Will you not be having the Count of Monte Cristo this evening?"

"Seventeen!" Albert replied.

"Now, leave me, and go to pay your respects to Madame de Villefort," said the baroness. "I can see that she's dying to speak to you."

"Monte Cristo is the name of an island, and he does have a family name."

Albert bowed and went across to Mme de Villefort, whose mouth started to open even as he was approaching her. "I bet," he said, interrupting, "that I can guess what you're going to say."

"Yes."

"That he was leaving at the same time as his letter."

"Did you know he has another name, apart from Monte Cristo?"

"Yes, yesterday."

"Nothing of the sort. I'm not concerned with him at the moment. I was going to ask if you had any news of Monsieur Franz?"

"On my honour."

"You were going to ask me if the Count of Monte Cristo had arrived or if he was coming."

"On your honour?"

"And what did he have to say?"

"Will you admit it, if I'm right?"

"Very well. And, now, what about the count?"

"Well, I never!" said Mme de Villefort.

"The count will come, have no fear."

"No, I didn't."

"No, you must do without her. Her status in the count's entourage is slightly ambiguous."

"And where was the news travelling?"

"Poor count. Does he know the danger he was in?"

"That's also possible."

"Because it's almost a secret I've found out."

"The police."

"He served in India, has a silver mine in Thessaly and has come to Paris to set up, selling mineral water in Auteuil."

"Well, it's about time," said Morcerf. "This really is news. Can I repeat it?"

"I've never heard it."

"He is a Maltese."

"The son of a shipowner."

"At the prefect's, yesterday evening. The authorities were put out, you understand, by this unusual ostentation, so the police made some enquiries."

"From where?"

"Why?"

"Which is just what might have happened to him, if the information had not been so much in his favour."

"Huh! You might as well arrest the count as a vagabond, on the excuse of his being too rich."

"Possibly."

"Come, now. You should be telling everybody about it. You'd have a huge audience."

"Well, I know more than you do. He's called Zaccone."

"Yes, but little by little, one item at a time, without saying that it comes from me."

"I don't think so."

At that moment a handsome young man with sparkling eyes, black hair and a well-waxed moustache came to pay his respects to Mme de Villefort. Albert held out his hand. "Madame," he said, "I have the honour to introduce Monsieur Maximilien Morrel, captain of spahis, one of our fine and, most of all, brave officers."

"I have already had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman in Auteuil at the Count of Monte Cristo's," Mme de Villefort replied, turning away with distinct coldness. This reply and, most of all, the tone in which it was delivered wrung poor Morrel's heart; but a consolation was in store. Turning around, he saw a beautiful, pale face in the doorway, its wide and apparently expressionless eyes fixed on him, while the bouquet of forget-me-nots was raised to its lips.

"Well, it is only right and proper to let him know. I shall certainly do it as soon as he arrives."

This greeting was well enough understood by Morrel for him to lift his handkerchief to his mouth, though with the same blank expression on his face. These two living statues, whose hearts were beating so rapidly despite the marble calm of their faces, separated from one another by the whole length of the room, momentarily forgot themselves; or, rather, momentarily forgot everyone else in their silent contemplation of one another. Indeed, they could have remained for a long time in this way, lost in each other, without anyone noticing their total self-absorption: the Count of Monte Cristo had just come in.

There may have been more handsome men, but there was surely none more significant, if we may be allowed to use the word. Everything about the count meant something and carried some weight; for the habit of positive thought had given to his features, to the expression on his face and to the least of his gestures an incomparable strength and suppleness.

As we have already mentioned, either because of some imagined aura or because of his natural presence, he attracted attention wherever he went. It was not his black coat, superbly though it was cut, simple and without decoration; it was not his plain white waistcoat; nor was it his trousers, fitting over a delicately shaped foot, that attracted attention. It was his dark complexion, his wavy black hair, his pure, calm face, his deep and melancholy eye and, finally, his exquisitely formed mouth which could so easily adopt an expression of sovereign contempt, which drew all eyes to him.

Apart from which, our society here in Paris is so strange that it might have paid no attention to all that, were it not that behind it lay a mysterious tale, gilded by a huge fortune.

However it may be, he came forward, running the gauntlet of stares and cursory greetings, towards Mme de Morcerf who, standing in front of the mantelpiece, had observed his entrance in a mirror facing the doorway and was getting ready to receive him. She consequently turned around with a well-judged smile at the very moment when he bowed in front of her. Doubtless she thought that the count would say something; and doubtless, on his side, he was expecting her to address him. But both remained silent, each surely feeling that a mere commonplace would be unworthy of them, and, after they had exchanged these silent salutations, Monte Cristo turned and began to walk towards Albert, who came to greet him with hand outstretched.

"You saw my mother?" Albert asked.

"I have just had the honour of paying her my respects," said the count. "But I did not see your father."

"Really?" said Monte Cristo. "Are the gentlemen I can see down there celebrities? I should never have guessed. What kind? There are all sorts of celebrities, you know."

"There! He is over there, talking politics, in that small circle of great celebrities."

"Quite probably," said Morcerf.

"Excellent!" said Monte Cristo. "The decoration seems to me to have been judiciously awarded. And if he finds another extra vertebra, they will make him a commander?"

"What about that other gentleman who has had the unusual notion of dressing up in a blue coat with green piping. What species can he be?"

"It wasn't his idea to dress up in that coat; it was the republic which, as you know, was something of an artist and thought it would give some kind of uniform to members of the French Academy, so it asked David to design them a coat."

"First a scientist: that dry old stick. He discovered a species of lizard in the Roman campagna, which has one vertebra more than any other, and has come back to inform the Institut of his discovery. There was a long debate on the matter, but the dry old stick won the day. The vertebra attracted a lot of attention in the scientific world; and the old stick, who used to be a knight of the Legion of Honour, is now an officer of the order."

"Really?" said Monte Cristo. "You mean the gentleman is an Academician?"

"No, but he writes them up in a very fine style."

"His speciality? I think he sticks pins in rabbits' heads, feeds madder to hens and uses whales to cultivate the spinal columns of dogs."

"And he is in the Academy of Sciences because of that?"

"No, in the French Academy."

"Ah, the cornflower-blue coat?"

"What about that other person?" asked the count.

"His experiments have greatly advanced science, I presume?"

"Which one?"

"A colleague of the count's who has just emphatically opposed a measure in the Upper House to give its members a uniform. His speeches on the topic were warmly applauded. He was in bad odour with the liberal press, but his noble opposition to the wishes of the court has put him back in favour with them, and there is talk that he might be made an ambassador."

Albert started to laugh.

"And what is his talent, his speciality?"

"The third…"

"That," said the count, "must be most gratifying for the self-respect of the rabbits into whose heads he sticks pins, the hens whose bones he colours red and the dogs whose columns he cultivates."

"But what has all that got to do with the French Academy?"

"Yes."

"He has been a member of the learned assembly for a week."

"I'll tell you. It seems…"

"Hurrah, Viscount!" said Monte Cristo, with a laugh. "You are a delightful guide. Now, will you do something for me?"

"He's written two or three comic operas, fought four or five lawsuits against Le Siècle and voted five or six times for the government."

At that moment he felt a hand on his arm. He looked around, to see Danglars. "Ah, it's you, Baron," he said.

"What entitles him to the peerage?"

"Unfortunately," said Monte Cristo, "one cannot be a millionaire for life, as one is a baron, a peer of the realm or an academician. Look at the millionaires Frank and Poulmann, of Frankfurt, who have just gone bankrupt."

"What?"

"Why do you call me baron?" said Danglars. "You know very well that I care nothing for my title -- unlike you, Viscount. You do care for yours, I think?"

"Don't introduce these gentlemen to me and, if they ask to be introduced to me, give me good warning."

"Undoubtedly," said Albert, "since, if I were not a viscount, I should be nothing, while you -- well, you can give up your title of baron and you would still be a millionaire."

"And that seems to me the finest of titles under our July Monarchy," said Danglars.

"Well, you have been warned. Their signature is worth five per cent."

"Oh, good Lord!" said Danglars. "They drew on me for two hundred thousand francs."

"Why, yes. I got the news only this evening by courier. I had something like a million with them, but I was given due warning and had myself reimbursed almost a month ago."

"No, really?" said Danglars, going pale.

"But the warning comes too late," said Danglars. "I honoured their signature."

"Well, now," said Monte Cristo. "That's two hundred thousand francs which have gone to…"

"Hush!" said Danglars. "Don't speak about such things…" Then, coming closer to Monte Cristo, he added: "Especially not in front of the younger Cavalcanti." At which he turned around, smiling in the direction of the young man.

Morcerf had left the count to go and talk to his mother. Danglars left him to speak to young Cavalcanti and, for a moment, Monte Cristo found himself alone.

The heat was starting to become unbearable. Valets were walking round the drawing-rooms bearing trays laden with fruit and ices. Monte Cristo took out a handkerchief and wiped a face dripping with sweat, but he shrank back when the tray passed by him and partook of no refreshment. Mme de Morcerf had not taken her eyes off Monte Cristo. She saw the tray pass, untouched, and even noticed his movement away from it.

"Yes, but he did agree to take lunch at my house, since that is when he made his entrée into society."

"The count has never wanted to accept an invitation to dine with Monsieur de Morcerf."

"He is very abstemious."

Albert returned to his mother's side. She was very pale. "Did you see?" she said. "He refused."

"Well, he has not yet taken anything to eat or drink."

"Well?"

Mercédès smiled sadly. "Go over to him," she said, "and, the next time the tray comes round, insist."

"You know, Albert, we women are peculiar. I should have been pleased to see the count take something in my house, if only a pomegranate seed. But perhaps he is not used to French manners, or he might have some preference, for something in particular?"

"What, mother?"

"Why, mother?"

"Just do it for me, Albert," Mercédès said.

Albert kissed his mother's hand and took up his position near the count. Another tray came past, loaded like the rest. She saw Albert pressing the count to take something, and even offering him an ice, but the count obstinately refused.

"Albert," she said, "have you noticed something?"

"With you is not the same as with the count," Mercédès muttered. "I have been watching him since he arrived."

"Why are you worried about that?"

"Since he has always lived in hot countries," the countess said, "he may be less sensitive than other people to the heat."

"No, I'm sure of it. I saw him taste everything in Italy. I expect he is feeling unwell this evening."

The men and women on the dance floor, gamblers and talkers, all let out cries of joy -- their thirsty lungs drinking in the air which poured into the room. At the same time Mercédès reappeared, paler than when she left, but with a remarkable expression of determination which her face took on in certain circumstances. She went directly to the group around her husband and said: "Count, please don't keep these gentlemen here. If they are not playing cards, I am sure they would prefer to breathe in the garden than to suffocate here."

"I don't think so, because he complained that it was stifling and asked why, since the windows had already been opened, the shutters were not opened as well."

"Yes," Mercédès said, "that's a way of finding out if his abstinence is deliberate." She left the room, and a moment later the shutters were opened and, through the jasmine and clematis that hung around the windows, one could see the whole garden lit up with lamps and the supper laid out under the awning.

"Oh, Madame," said a very gallant old general who had sung Partons pour la Syrie in 1809, "we will not go into the garden alone."

The count seemed almost to stagger on hearing these simple words, then he looked at Mercédès for a moment. The moment lasted as long as a flash of lightning, but to the countess it seemed to last a century, so much intensity of thought did Monte Cristo put into this single glance. He offered the countess his arm and she leant on it; or, rather, she allowed her little hand to brush against it; and the two of them went down one of the staircases outside the french windows, bordered with rhododendron and camellias. By the other staircase, with noisy cries of delight, some twenty guests hurried along behind them into the garden.

"Very well," said Mercédès. "I shall set you an example." And she turned towards Monte Cristo. "Monsieur le Comte, please do me the honour of giving me your arm."