LXXVI. Le progrès de Cavalcanti fils.

LXXVI

The Progress of Cavalcanti Junior.

Meanwhile M. Cavalcanti father had departed to resume his post, not in the army of His Majesty the Emperor of Austria, but at the roulette tables of the Baths of Lucca, of which he was one of the most assiduous courtiers.

It goes without saying that he had carried off with the most scrupulous exactness, down to the last paul, the sum that had been allotted to him for his journey, and as a reward for the majestic and solemn manner in which he had played his part as father.

M. Andrea, upon this departure, had inherited all the papers proving that he had indeed the honour of being the son of the Marquis Bartolomeo and the Marquise Leonora Corsinari.

He was thus more or less anchored in that Parisian society, so ready to receive foreigners, and to treat them not according to what they are, but according to what they wish to be.

Besides, what is asked of a young man in Paris? To speak his language tolerably, to be suitably dressed, to be a good loser, and to pay in gold.

It goes without saying that one is still less exacting with a foreigner than with a Parisian.

Andrea had therefore, in the space of a fortnight, attained a rather fine position; he was called the Count, it was said he had an income of fifty thousand livres, and people spoke of the immense treasures of his father, buried, so it was said, in the quarries of Saravezza.

A scholar, before whom this last circumstance was mentioned as a fact, declared he had seen the quarries in question, which gave great weight to assertions hitherto floating in a state of doubt, and which thenceforward took on the consistency of reality.

Such was the state of things in that circle of Parisian society into which we have introduced our readers, when Monte Cristo came one evening to pay a visit to M. Danglars. M. Danglars had gone out, but the Count was invited to be shown in to the Baroness, who was receiving, which he accepted.

It was never without a kind of nervous start that, since the dinner at Auteuil and the events that had followed it, Mme Danglars heard the name of Monte Cristo pronounced. If the Count's presence did not follow the sound of his name, the painful sensation became more intense; if, on the contrary, the Count appeared, his open countenance, his brilliant eyes, his amiability, his very gallantry toward Mme Danglars, soon dispelled even the last impression of fear; it seemed to the Baroness impossible that a man so charming on the surface could harbour ill designs against her; moreover, the most corrupt hearts cannot believe in evil save when they rest it upon some interest or other; useless and causeless malice is repugnant like an anomaly.

When Monte Cristo entered the boudoir where we have already once introduced our readers, and where the Baroness was following with a rather anxious eye some drawings that her daughter passed to her after having looked at them with M. Cavalcanti junior, his presence produced its usual effect, and it was with a smile that, after being somewhat shaken by his name, the Baroness received the Count.

He, for his part, took in the whole scene at a glance.

Near the Baroness, reclining almost upon a couch, sat Eugénie, and Cavalcanti stood.

Cavalcanti, dressed in black like a hero of Goethe, in patent-leather shoes and openwork white silk stockings, passed a rather white and well-cared-for hand through his blond hair, amid which scintillated a diamond that, despite the advice of Monte Cristo, the vain young man had not been able to resist the desire to wear upon his little finger.

This movement was accompanied by murderous glances cast upon Mlle Danglars, and by sighs sent to the same address as the glances.

Mlle Danglars was always the same, that is to say beautiful, cold, and mocking. Not one of those glances, not one of those sighs of Andrea's escaped her; one would have said they glided over the cuirass of Minerva, a cuirass which some philosophers pretend sometimes covers the breast of Sappho.

Eugénie coldly saluted the Count, and took advantage of the first preoccupations of the conversation to withdraw into her study, whence soon two voices, laughing and noisy, mingled with the first chords of a piano, made known to Monte Cristo that Mlle Danglars had preferred, to his society and that of M. Cavalcanti, the society of Mlle Louise d'Armilly, her singing mistress.

It was then especially that, while chatting with Mme Danglars and seeming absorbed by the charm of the conversation, the Count remarked the solicitude of M. Andrea Cavalcanti, his manner of going to listen to the music at the door which he dared not cross, and of manifesting his admiration.

Soon the banker returned. His first glance was for Monte Cristo, it is true, but the second for Andrea.

As for his wife, he saluted her in the fashion in which certain husbands salute their wives, and which bachelors will not be able to form an idea of until a very extensive code of conjugality shall have been published.

"Did not those young ladies invite you to make music with them?" Danglars asked Andrea.

"Alas! no, sir," replied Andrea with a sigh even more remarkable than the others.

Danglars at once advanced toward the communicating door and opened it.

There were then to be seen the two young girls seated upon the same seat, before the same piano. They accompanied each with one hand, an exercise to which they had accustomed themselves by fancy, and in which they had become of remarkable skill.

Mlle d'Armilly, who was then visible, forming with Eugénie, thanks to the door frame, one of those living pictures such as are often made in Germany, was of rather remarkable beauty, or rather of exquisite prettiness. She was a slender little woman, blond as a fairy, with great curled hair falling upon her neck a little too long, as Perugino sometimes gives to his virgins, and eyes veiled by fatigue. It was said she had a weak chest, and that, like Antonia of _The Cremona Violin_, she would one day die singing.

Monte Cristo plunged into this gynaeceum a rapid and curious glance; it was the first time he had seen Mlle d'Armilly, of whom he had so often heard spoken in the house.

"Well," said the banker to his daughter, "are we then excluded, we others?"

Then he led the young man into the little salon, and, whether by chance or by design, behind Andrea the door was pushed to in such a way that, from the place where they were seated, Monte Cristo and the Baroness could no longer see anything, but, as the banker had followed Andrea, Mme Danglars did not even appear to notice the circumstance.

Shortly after, the Count heard Andrea's voice resounding to the chords of the piano, accompanying a Corsican song.

While the Count listened smiling at this song, which made him forget Andrea to remind him of Benedetto, Mme Danglars was extolling to Monte Cristo the strength of soul of her husband, who, that very morning, had, in a Milanese failure, lost three or four hundred thousand francs.

And, in fact, the praise was merited; for, if the Count had not known it through the Baroness or perhaps through one of the means he had of knowing all, the Baron's face would not have told him a word of it.

"Good!" thought Monte Cristo, "he is already at the point of hiding what he loses: a month ago he boasted of it."

Then aloud:

"Oh! madame," said the Count, "M. Danglars knows the Exchange so well that he will always recover elsewhere what he may lose here."

"I see that you share the common error," said Mme Danglars.

"And what is that error?" said Monte Cristo.

"It is that M. Danglars gambles, whereas on the contrary he never gambles."

"Ah! yes, that is true, madame, I recall that M. Debray told me... By the way, but what has become of M. Debray? It is three or four days since I have caught sight of him."

"And I also," said Mme Danglars with miraculous composure. "But you began a sentence that has remained unfinished."

"Which?"

"M. Debray told you, you were saying...."

"Ah! that is true; M. Debray told me that it was you who sacrificed to the demon of play."

"I had that taste for some time, I confess," said Mme Danglars, "but I no longer have it."

"And you are wrong, madame. Eh! my God! the chances of fortune are precarious, and if I were a woman, and chance had made of that woman the wife of a banker, however much confidence I might have in my husband's good fortune, for in speculation, as you know, all is good fortune and misfortune; well, I say, however much confidence I might have in my husband's good fortune, I should always begin by securing an independent fortune, were it only by placing my interests in hands unknown to him."

Mme Danglars blushed in spite of herself.

"See," said Monte Cristo, as if he had seen nothing, "they are speaking of a fine stroke that was made yesterday on the Naples bonds."

"I have none of them," said the Baroness quickly, "and I have never even had any; but, in truth, this is enough of talking the Exchange like this, Monsieur le Comte, we have the air of two stockbrokers; let us speak a little of those poor Villeforts, so tormented at this moment by fatality."

"What is happening to them then?" asked Monte Cristo with perfect naivety.

"Why, you know; after having lost M. de Saint-Méran three or four days after his departure, they have just lost the Marquise three or four days after her arrival."

"Ah! that is true," said Monte Cristo, "I learned that; but as Clodius says to Hamlet, it is a law of nature: their fathers died before them, and they mourned them; they will die before their sons, and their sons will mourn them."

"But that is not all."

"How is that not all?"

"No; you knew they were going to marry their daughter...."

"M. Franz d'Épinay.... Is the marriage broken off?"

"Yesterday morning, it appears, Franz returned their word to them."

"Ah! indeed.... And are the causes of this rupture known?"

"No."

"What are you telling me there, good heavens! madame... and M. de Villefort, how does he accept all these misfortunes?"

"As always, like a philosopher."

At this moment, Danglars re-entered alone.

"Well," said the Baroness, "you are leaving M. Cavalcanti with your daughter?"

"And Mlle d'Armilly," said the banker, "whom do you take him for?"

Then turning toward Monte Cristo:

"A charming young man, is he not, Monsieur le Comte, this Prince Cavalcanti?... Only, is he really a prince?"

"I do not answer for it," said Monte Cristo. "His father was presented to me as a marquis, he would be a count; but I think he himself has no great pretension to that title."

"Why?" said the banker. "If he is a prince, he is wrong not to boast of it. Each his own right. I do not like one to disown one's origin, I."

"Oh! you are a pure democrat," said Monte Cristo smiling.

"But, see," said the Baroness, "what you are exposing yourself to: if M. de Morcerf were to come by chance, he would find M. Cavalcanti in a room where he, the betrothed of Eugénie, has never had permission to enter."

"You are right to say by chance," replied the banker, "for, in truth, one would say, so rarely is he seen, that it is indeed chance that brings him to us."

"In short, if he came, and found this young man near your daughter, he might be displeased."

"He? oh! my God! you are mistaken, M. Albert does not do us the honour of being jealous of his betrothed, he does not love her enough for that. Besides, what do I care whether he is displeased or not!"

"However, at the point we have reached...."

"Yes, at the point we have reached: would you like to know, the point we have reached? it is that at his mother's ball, he danced once only with my daughter, that M. Cavalcanti danced three times with her and that he did not even notice it."

"M. le Vicomte Albert de Morcerf!" announced the valet de chambre.

The Baroness rose quickly. She was going to pass into the study to warn her daughter, when Danglars stopped her by the arm.

"Leave it," said he.

She looked at him in astonishment.

Monte Cristo pretended not to have seen this little scene.

Albert entered; he was very handsome and very gay. He saluted the Baroness with ease, Danglars with familiarity, Monte Cristo with affection; then turning toward the Baroness:

"Will you permit me, madame," said he to her, "to ask you how Mlle Danglars is?"

"Very well, sir," Danglars answered quickly, "she is at this moment making music in her little salon with M. Cavalcanti."

Albert kept his calm and indifferent air: perhaps he felt some inward vexation; but he felt Monte Cristo's gaze fixed upon him.

"M. Cavalcanti has a very fine tenor voice," said he, "and Mlle Eugénie a magnificent soprano, not to mention that she plays the piano like Thalberg. It must be a charming concert."

"The fact is," said Danglars, "that they harmonize marvellously."

Albert appeared not to have noticed this equivocation, so gross however that Mme Danglars blushed at it.

"I too," continued the young man, "am a musician, according to my masters at least; well, strange thing, I have never yet been able to tune my voice with any voice, and with soprano voices especially even less than with others."

Danglars made a little smile which signified: But do get angry, then!

"Also," said he, hoping no doubt to arrive at the end he desired, "the Prince and my daughter yesterday excited general admiration. Were you not there yesterday, M. de Morcerf?"

"What prince?" asked Albert.

"The Prince Cavalcanti," resumed Danglars, who still persisted in giving this title to the young man.

"Ah! pardon," said Albert, "I was ignorant that he was a prince. Ah! the Prince Cavalcanti sang yesterday with Mlle Eugénie? Indeed, it must have been delightful, and I regret most keenly not having heard that. But I could not accept your invitation, I was obliged to accompany Mme de Morcerf to the Baronne de Château-Renaud's, the mother's, where the Germans were singing."

Then, after a silence, and as if nothing had been in question:

"Shall I be permitted," Morcerf repeated, "to present my respects to Mlle Danglars?"

"Oh! wait, wait, I beg of you," said the banker, stopping the young man. "Do you hear the delicious cavatina, ta, ta, ta, ti, ta, ti, ta, ta, it is ravishing, it is going to finish... one single second: perfect! bravo! bravi! brava!"

And the banker began to applaud with frenzy.

"Indeed," said Albert, "it is exquisite, and it is impossible to understand the music of one's country better than does the Prince Cavalcanti. You said prince, did you not? Besides, if he is not a prince, one will make him a prince, that is easy in Italy. But to return to our adorable singers, you should do us a pleasure, M. Danglars: without warning them that there is a stranger here, you should ask Mlle Danglars and M. Cavalcanti to begin another piece. It is such a delicious thing to enjoy music from a little distance, in a half-light, without being seen, without seeing and, consequently, without embarrassing the musician, who can thus give himself up to all the instinct of his genius or to all the impulse of his heart."

This time Danglars was disconcerted by the young man's phlegm.

He took Monte Cristo aside.

"Well," said he to him, "what do you say of our lover!"

"Why! he seems cold to me, that is incontestable; but what would you have? you are engaged!"

"No doubt, I am engaged, but to give my daughter to a man who loves her and not to a man who does not love her. See this one, cold as marble, proud as his father; if he were rich at least, if he had the Cavalcantis' fortune, one might overlook that. My faith, I have not consulted my daughter; but if she had good taste...."

"Oh!" said Monte Cristo, "I do not know if it is my friendship for him that blinds me, but I assure you, that M. de Morcerf is a charming young man, there, who will make your daughter happy and who will arrive sooner or later at something; for, after all, his father's position is excellent."

"Hum!" went Danglars.

"Why this doubt?"

"There is always the past... that obscure past."

"But the father's past does not concern the son."

"Yes it does, yes it does!"

"Come, do not get your head heated; a month ago, you found it excellent to make this marriage.... You understand, I, I am in despair: it is at my house that you saw this young Cavalcanti, whom I do not know, I repeat to you."

"I know him, I," said Danglars, "that suffices."

"You know him? have you then taken information about him?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Is there need of that, and at first sight does one not know whom one has to deal with? He is rich, first."

"I do not assure it."

"You answer for him, however?"

"For fifty thousand livres, a mere trifle."

"He has a distinguished education."

"Hum!" went Monte Cristo in his turn.

"He is musical."

"All Italians are."

"See here, Count, you are not just toward this young man."

"Well, yes, I confess, I see with regret that, knowing your engagements with the Morcerfs, he comes thus to throw himself across and abuse his fortune."

Danglars began to laugh.

"Oh! how puritanical you are!" said he, "but that is done every day in the world."

"You cannot however break off thus, my dear M. Danglars: the Morcerfs count upon this marriage."

"Do they count upon it?"

"Positively."

"Then let them explain themselves. You should drop two words of that to the father, my dear Count, you who are so well in the house."

"I! and where the devil did you see that?"

"Why, at their ball, it seems to me. How! the Countess, the proud Mercédès, the disdainful Catalan, who deigns scarce to open her mouth to her oldest acquaintances, took you by the arm, went out with you into the garden, took the little paths, and reappeared only half an hour after."

"Ah! Baron, Baron," said Albert, "you are preventing us from hearing: for a melomaniac like you, what barbarity!"

"That will do, that will do, Monsieur the mocker," said Danglars.

Then turning toward Monte Cristo:

"Will you undertake to tell him that, the father?"

"Willingly, if you desire it."

"But that for this time it be done in an explicit and definitive manner, above all that he ask me for my daughter, that he fix an epoch, that he declare his money conditions, in short that they come to an understanding or quarrel; but, you understand, no more delays."

"Well, the step shall be taken."

"I shall not tell you that I await it with pleasure, but at last I await it: a banker, you know, must be slave to his word."

And Danglars uttered one of those sighs that Cavalcanti junior had uttered half an hour before.

"Bravi! bravo! brava!" cried Morcerf, parodying the banker and applauding the end of the piece.

Danglars was beginning to look askance at Albert, when someone came to tell him two words in a low voice.

"I shall return," said the banker to Monte Cristo, "wait for me, I shall perhaps have something to say to you presently."

And he went out.

The Baroness profited by her husband's absence to push open the door of her daughter's study, and there was seen to rise, like a spring, M. Andrea, who was seated before the piano with Mlle Eugénie.

Albert smilingly saluted Mlle Danglars, who, without seeming at all troubled, returned a salute as cold as usual.

Cavalcanti appeared evidently embarrassed; he saluted Morcerf, who returned his salute with the most impertinent air in the world.

Then Albert began to pour out praises of Mlle Danglars' voice, and of the regret he felt, from what he had just heard, at not having attended the previous evening's party....

Cavalcanti, left to himself, took Monte Cristo aside.

"Come," said Mme Danglars, "enough of music and compliments like that, come and take tea."

"Come, Louise," said Mlle Danglars to her friend.

They passed into the adjoining salon, where indeed the tea was prepared. At the moment when, in the English fashion, they were beginning to leave the spoons in the cups, the door opened again, and Danglars reappeared visibly much agitated.

Monte Cristo especially remarked this agitation and interrogated the banker with a look.

"Well," said Danglars, "I have just received my Greek mail."

"Ah! ah!" said the Count, "is that why you were called away?"

"How is King Otho?" asked Albert in the most playful tone.

Danglars looked at him askance without answering, and Monte Cristo turned away to hide the expression of pity that had just appeared on his face and which faded almost immediately.

"We shall go together, shall we not?" said Albert to the Count.

"Yes, if you wish," replied the latter.

Albert could understand nothing of the banker's look; also, turning toward Monte Cristo, who had perfectly understood:

"Did you see," said he, "how he looked at me?"

"Yes," answered the Count; "but do you find anything particular in his look?"

"I should think so; but what does he mean with his news from Greece?"

"How do you expect me to know that?"

"Because, as I presume, you have intelligences in the country."

Monte Cristo smiled as one always smiles when one wishes to dispense with answering.

"See," said Albert, "there he comes toward you, I am going to pay a compliment to Mlle Danglars on her cameo; meanwhile the father will have time to speak to you."

"If you pay her a compliment, pay her a compliment at least on her voice," said Monte Cristo.

"Not so; that is what everybody would do."

"My dear Vicomte," said Monte Cristo, "you have the fatuity of impertinence."

Albert advanced toward Eugénie, a smile upon his lips. During this time, Danglars bent to the Count's ear.

"You gave me excellent advice," said he, "and there is a whole horrible story behind those two words: Fernand and Janina."

"Indeed!" said Monte Cristo.

"Yes, I shall tell you that; but take the young man away: I should be too embarrassed to remain now with him."

"That is what I am doing, he is accompanying me; now, am I still to send you the father?"

"More than ever."

"Very well."

The Count made a sign to Albert. Both saluted the ladies and went out: Albert with an air perfectly indifferent to Mlle Danglars' scorns; Monte Cristo reiterating to Mme Danglars his counsels upon the prudence a banker's wife should have to secure her future.

M. Cavalcanti remained master of the field of battle.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”