LXX. Le bal.

LXX

The Ball.

They had reached the hottest days of July when there came in turn, in the order of time, that Saturday on which the ball of M. de Morcerf was to take place.

It was ten o'clock in the evening: the great trees of the garden of the count's hôtel stood out boldly against a sky where, gliding past and unveiling an azure drapery strewn with golden stars, the last vapors of a storm that had threatened all day long were drifting away.

In the rooms on the ground floor one could hear the music sounding and the waltz and the galop whirling, while brilliant bands of light cut sharply through the openings of the shutters.

The garden was at that moment given over to some ten servants, to whom the mistress of the house, reassured by weather that was growing clearer and clearer, had just given the order to set out the supper.

Until then it had been undecided whether they would sup in the dining room or under a long canvas tent erected on the lawn. This fine blue sky, all strewn with stars, had just decided the dispute in favor of the tent and the lawn.

They were lighting the garden paths with colored lanterns, as is the custom in Italy, and overloading the supper table with candles and flowers, as is the usage in all countries where one understands something of that luxury of the table, the rarest of all luxuries, when one would have it complete.

At the moment when the Countess of Morcerf re-entered her salons, after giving her final orders, the salons were beginning to fill with guests attracted by the charming hospitality of the countess, far more than by the distinguished position of the count; for it was known in advance that this fête would offer, thanks to Mercédès's good taste, some details worthy of being told or copied if need be.

Madame Danglars, whom the events we have related had inspired with a deep uneasiness, hesitated to go to Madame de Morcerf's, when in the morning her carriage had crossed that of Villefort. Villefort had made her a sign, the two carriages had drawn near, and through the doors:

"You are going to Madame de Morcerf's, are you not?" the king's attorney had asked.

"No," Madame Danglars had answered, "I am too unwell."

"You are wrong," Villefort had replied with a significant look; "it would be important that you be seen there."

"Ah! do you think so?" asked the baroness.

"I think so."

"In that case, I shall go."

And the two carriages had resumed their divergent courses. Madame Danglars had therefore come, not only beautiful with her own beauty, but dazzling besides with luxury; she entered by one door at the moment when Mercédès entered by the other.

The countess detached Albert to go meet Madame Danglars; Albert advanced, paid the baroness, upon her toilette, the compliments she deserved, and took her arm to lead her to whatever place she might please to choose.

Albert looked about him.

"You are looking for my daughter?" said the baroness, smiling.

"I confess it," said Albert; "would you have been cruel enough not to bring her to us?"

"Rest easy, she met Mademoiselle de Villefort and took her arm; see, there they are following us both in white dresses, one with a bouquet of camellias, the other with a bouquet of forget-me-nots; but tell me, now?..."

"What are you looking for in your turn?" asked Albert, smiling.

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

"Seventeen!" answered Albert.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it is going well," resumed the viscount, laughing; "and that you are the seventeenth person who has put the same question to me; the count is doing well!... I congratulate him on it...."

"And do you answer everyone as you do me?"

"Ah! it is true, I have not answered you; rest easy, madame, we shall have the man of the hour, we are privileged."

"Were you at the Opera yesterday?"

"No."

"He was there, he."

"Ah! indeed! And has the _excentric man_ done some new originality?"

"Can he show himself without that? Elssler was dancing in _Le Diable boiteux_; the Greek princess was in raptures. After the cachucha, he passed a magnificent ring onto the stem of the bouquet, and threw it to the charming dancer, who reappeared in the third act, to do him honor, with the ring on her finger. And his Greek princess, shall you have her?"

"No, you must do without her; her position in the count's house is not settled enough."

"See, leave me here and go salute Madame de Villefort," said the baroness; "I see she is dying to speak to you."

Albert saluted Madame Danglars and advanced toward Madame de Villefort, who opened her mouth as he drew near.

"I wager," said Albert, interrupting her, "that I know what you are going to say?"

"Oh! for instance!" said Madame de Villefort.

"If I guess right, will you admit it?"

"Yes."

"Upon your honor?"

"Upon my honor."

"You were going to ask me whether the Count of Monte Cristo had arrived or was about to come?"

"Not at all. It is not of him I am thinking at this moment. I was going to ask you whether you had had news of M. Franz."

"Yes, yesterday."

"What did he tell you?"

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

"Good! Now, the count?"

"The count will come, be tranquil."

"You know he has another name than Monte Cristo?"

"No, I did not know."

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

"I have never heard it pronounced."

"Well, I am further advanced than you; he is called Zaccone."

"That is possible."

"He is Maltese."

"That is possible again."

"Son of a shipowner."

"Oh! but, really, you ought to tell these things aloud, you would have the greatest success."

"He served in India, works a silver mine in Thessaly, and comes to Paris to set up a mineral-water establishment at Auteuil."

"Well, that is something like," said Morcerf; "there are some news! Will you permit me to repeat them?"

"Yes, but little by little, one at a time, without saying they come from me."

"Why is that?"

"Because it is almost a secret surprised."

"From whom?"

"From the police."

"Then these news were being retailed..."

"Last evening, at the prefect's. Paris was stirred, as you well understand, at the sight of this unusual luxury, and the police made inquiries."

"Good! all that was needed was to arrest the count as a vagabond, on the pretext that he is too rich."

"Upon my faith, that might very well have happened to him if the information had not been so favorable."

"Poor count, and does he suspect the peril he has run?"

"I do not think so."

"Then it is a charity to warn him of it. On his arrival I shall not fail to do so."

At this moment a handsome young man with lively eyes, black hair, and a glistening mustache came to salute Madame de Villefort respectfully. Albert held out his hand to him.

"Madame," said Albert, "I have the honor to present to you M. Maximilien Morrel, captain of spahis, one of our good and above all of our brave officers."

"I have already had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman at Auteuil, at the house of the Count of Monte Cristo," replied Madame de Villefort, turning away with marked coldness.

This answer, and above all the tone in which it was made, wrung the heart of poor Morrel; but a compensation was in store for him: on turning, he saw at the corner of the door a beautiful and pale face whose dilated eyes, without apparent expression, were fixed upon him, while the bouquet of forget-me-nots slowly rose to her lips.

This salute was so well understood that Morrel, with the same expression of glance, in his turn raised his handkerchief to his mouth; and the two living statues whose hearts beat so rapidly beneath the apparent marble of their faces, separated from one another by the whole width of the room, forgot themselves for an instant, or rather for an instant forgot everyone in that mute contemplation.

They might have remained longer thus lost in one another, without anyone noticing their forgetfulness of all things: the Count of Monte Cristo had just entered.

We have already said, the count, whether by factitious prestige or by natural prestige, attracted attention wherever he presented himself; it was not his black coat, irreproachable it is true in its cut, but simple and without decorations; it was not his white waistcoat without any embroidery; it was not his trousers enclosing a foot of the most delicate shape, that attracted attention: it was his mat complexion, his black waved hair, it was his calm and pure face, it was his deep and melancholy eye, it was finally his mouth drawn with a marvelous fineness, and which so easily took the expression of a high disdain, that made all eyes fix upon him.

There might be handsomer men, but there were certainly none more _significative_—let us be pardoned the expression: everything in the count meant something and had its value; for the habit of useful thought had given to his features, to the expression of his face, and to the most insignificant of his gestures an incomparable suppleness and firmness.

And then our Parisian world is so strange, that it would perhaps not have paid attention to all that, if beneath all that there had not been a mysterious story gilded by an immense fortune.

However it was, he advanced, beneath the weight of glances and through the exchange of little salutes, up to Madame de Morcerf, who, standing before the chimney piece adorned with flowers, had seen him appear in a mirror placed opposite the door, and had prepared herself to receive him.

She turned toward him with a composed smile at the very moment when he was bowing before her.

Doubtless she believed the count was about to speak to her; doubtless, on his side, the count believed she was about to address him; but on both sides they remained mute, as a banality no doubt seemed unworthy of both; and, after an exchange of salutes, Monte Cristo directed himself toward Albert, who was coming to him with open hand.

"Have you seen my mother?" asked Albert.

"I have just had the honor of saluting her," said the count, "but I have not caught sight of your father."

"See! he is talking politics, over there, in that little group of great celebrities."

"In truth," said Monte Cristo, "these gentlemen whom I see over there are celebrities? I should not have suspected it! And of what kind? There are celebrities of every sort, as you know."

"There is first a savant, that tall dry gentleman; he has discovered in the countryside of Rome a species of lizard that has a vertebra more than the others, and he has come back to acquaint the Institute with this discovery. The matter was long contested: but the day remained with the tall dry gentleman. The vertebra had made much noise in the learned world; the tall dry gentleman was but a knight of the Legion of Honor, they have made him an officer."

"So be it!" said Monte Cristo; "there is a cross that seems to me wisely given; then, if he finds a second vertebra, they will make him a commander?"

"That is probable," said Morcerf.

"And that other who had the singular idea of bedecking himself in a coat of blue embroidered with green, what can he be?"

"It is not he who had the idea of bedecking himself in that coat: it is the Republic, which, as you know, was a bit artistic, and which, wishing to give a uniform to the academicians, asked David to design them a coat."

"Ah! indeed," said Monte Cristo; "so this gentleman is an academician?"

"For eight days he has formed part of the learned assembly."

"And what is his merit, his specialty?"

"His specialty? I believe he thrusts pins into the heads of rabbits, makes hens eat madder, and pushes back the spinal marrow of dogs with whalebone."

"And he is of the Academy of Sciences for that?"

"Not at all, of the French Academy."

"But what has the French Academy to do in that?"

"I will tell you: it appears..."

"That his experiments have made a great step in science, no doubt?"

"No, but that he writes in very good style."

"That must," said Monte Cristo, "flatter enormously the self-love of the rabbits into whose heads he thrusts pins, of the hens whose bones he dyes red, and of the dogs whose spinal marrow he pushes back."

Albert began to laugh.

"And that other?" asked the count.

"That other?"

"Yes, the third."

"Ah! the cornflower-blue coat?"

"Yes."

"He is a colleague of the count, who has just opposed most warmly the having of a uniform by the Chamber of Peers; he had a great success of eloquence on that subject; he was on bad terms with the liberal newspapers, but his noble opposition to the wishes of the court has just reconciled him with them; they speak of naming him ambassador."

"And what are his titles to the peerage?"

"He has made two or three comic operas, taken four or five shares in the _Siècle_, and voted five or six years for the ministry."

"Bravo! viscount," said Monte Cristo, laughing; "you are a charming cicerone; now you will do me a service, will you not?"

"Which?"

"You will not present me to these gentlemen, and if they ask to be presented to me, you will warn me."

At this moment the count felt a hand laid upon his arm; he turned, it was Danglars.

"Ah! it is you, baron!" said he.

"Why do you call me baron?" said Danglars; "you know well I do not care for my title. It is not as with you, viscount; you care for yours, do you not?"

"Certainly," answered Albert, "seeing that if I were not a viscount, I should be nothing, while you, you can sacrifice your title of baron, you will still remain a millionaire."

"Which seems to me the finest title under the monarchy of July," resumed Danglars.

"Unfortunately," said Monte Cristo, "one is not a millionaire for life as one is a baron, a peer of France, or an academician; witness the millionaires Frank and Poulmann, of Frankfort, who have just failed."

"Really?" said Danglars, turning pale.

"Upon my faith, I received the news this evening by a courier; I had something like a million with them; but, warned in time, I demanded repayment from them about a month ago."

"Ah! my God!" resumed Danglars; "they have drawn on me for two hundred thousand francs."

"Well, there you are warned; their signature is worth five per cent."

"Yes, but I am warned too late," said Danglars; "I have honored their signature."

"Good!" said Monte Cristo; "there are two hundred thousand francs which have gone to join..."

"Hush!" said Danglars; "do not speak of those things..."

Then, approaching Monte Cristo: "above all before M. Cavalcanti fils," added the banker, who, in pronouncing these words, turned smiling toward the young man.

Morcerf had left the count to go speak to his mother. Danglars left him to salute Cavalcanti fils. Monte Cristo found himself alone for an instant.

Meanwhile the heat was beginning to become excessive.

The valets were circulating in the salons with trays laden with fruit and ices.

Monte Cristo wiped with his handkerchief his face moist with sweat; but he drew back when the tray passed before him, and took nothing to refresh himself.

Madame de Morcerf did not lose sight of Monte Cristo. She saw the tray pass without his touching it; she even caught the movement by which he drew away from it.

"Albert," said she, "have you noticed one thing?"

"Which, mother?"

"It is that the count never would accept to dine at M. de Morcerf's."

"Yes, but he accepted to breakfast with me, since it is by that breakfast that he made his entry into the world."

"With you is not with the count," murmured Mercédès; "and, since he is here, I have been observing him."

"Well?"

"Well, he has not yet taken anything."

"The count is very sober."

Mercédès smiled sadly.

"Draw near him," said she, "and, at the first tray that passes, insist."

"Why that, mother?"

"Do me that pleasure, Albert," said Mercédès.

Albert kissed his mother's hand, and went to place himself near the count.

Another tray passed laden like the preceding ones; she saw Albert insist near the count, even take an ice and offer it to him, but he obstinately refused.

Albert returned near his mother; the countess was very pale.

"Well," said she, "you see, he has refused."

"Yes; but how can that concern you?"

"You know, Albert, women are singular. I should have seen with pleasure the count take something at my house, were it but a grain of pomegranate. Perhaps after all he is not accustomed to French customs, perhaps he has preferences for something."

"Good heavens, no! I have seen him in Italy take of everything; no doubt he is indisposed this evening."

"Then," said the countess, "having always lived in brilliant climates, perhaps he is less sensitive than another to the heat?"

"I do not think so, for he was complaining of stifling, asking why, since the windows are already open, they had not also opened the blinds."

"Indeed," said Mercédès, "that is a means of assuring myself whether this abstinence is a settled purpose."

And she left the salon.

An instant after, the shutters opened, and one could, through the jasmines and clematises that adorned the windows, see the whole garden lit with lanterns and the supper served under the tent.

Dancers and dancers, players and talkers uttered a cry of joy: all those thirsty lungs breathed with delight the air that entered in floods.

At the same moment, Mercédès reappeared, paler than she had gone out, but with that firmness of face which was remarkable in her in certain circumstances. She went straight to the group of which her husband formed the center:

"Do not chain these gentlemen here, count," said she; "they will like as well, if they are not playing, to breathe in the garden as to stifle here."

"Ah! madame," said a very gallant old general, who had sung: _Partons pour la Syrie!_ in 1809, "we shall not go alone to the garden."

"Be it so," said Mercédès; "I shall therefore give the example."

And turning toward Monte Cristo:

"Monsieur le Comte," said she, "do me the honor of offering me your arm."

The count almost staggered at these simple words; then he looked for a moment at Mercédès. That moment had the rapidity of lightning, and yet it seemed to the countess that it lasted a century, so many thoughts had Monte Cristo put into that single glance. He offered his arm to the countess; she leaned upon it, or, better said, she grazed it with her small hand, and both descended one of the perron staircases bordered with rhododendrons and camellias. Behind them, and by the other staircase, there sprang into the garden, with noisy exclamations of pleasure, some twenty walkers.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”