Chapter 115: The Collection: III
"Sir," the Count said to Albert, "I won’t ask you to come see my residence today, as I can only show you a house furnished in haste. As you know, I have a reputation for not being caught unprepared. Give me one more day before I invite you. Then I’ll be certain not to fail in my hospitality."
"If you ask for a day, Count, I know what to expect. It won’t be a house I’ll see, but a palace. You clearly have some supernatural genius at your command."
"Indeed, spread that idea," Monte Cristo replied, placing his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his splendid carriage. "That reputation will be worth something among the ladies."
As he spoke, he climbed into the vehicle. The door closed, but not so quickly that Monte Cristo failed to notice the almost imperceptible movement that stirred the curtains of the apartment where he’d left Madame de Morcerf.
When Albert returned to his mother, he found her in her private sitting room, reclining in a large velvet armchair. The whole room was so dark that only the shining ornaments fastened here and there to the drapery, and the corners of gilded picture frames, showed any brightness in the gloom. Albert couldn’t see his mother’s face, it was covered with a thin veil she’d pulled over her head, falling over her features in misty folds. But her voice seemed different somehow.
Among the perfumes of roses and other flowers in the room, he detected the sharp, fragrant smell of smelling salts. He noticed on the mantelpiece that his mother’s bottle had been taken from its case.
"My dear mother, have you been ill during my absence?" he asked with concern as he entered.
"No, no, Albert, but you know these roses and other flowers release such intense perfumes at first, before you’re used to them."
"Then, Mother," Albert said, reaching for the bell, "they should be moved to the entrance hall. You’re really unwell, and you were so pale when you entered the salon-"
"Was I pale, Albert?"
"Yes. A pallor that suited you beautifully, Mother, but which nonetheless alarmed Father and me."
"Did your father mention it?" Mercedes asked eagerly.
"No, madame, but don’t you remember that he spoke to you about it?"
"Yes, I remember now," the countess replied.
A servant entered, summoned by Albert’s bell.
"Take these flowers to the entrance hall or dressing room," the viscount ordered. "They’re making my mother ill."
The footman obeyed. A long silence followed, lasting until all the flowers had been removed.
"What is this name Monte Cristo?" the countess asked when the servant had taken away the last vase. "Is it a family name, an estate name, or just a title?"
"I believe, Mother, it’s merely a title. The Count purchased an island and founded a religious order there, as he mentioned today. You know similar things were done with various knightly orders. Apart from this, he makes no claim to ancient nobility and calls himself a count by chance, though general opinion where I met him is that he’s a man of very high distinction."
"His manners are excellent," the countess said, "at least as far as I could judge in the few minutes he was here."
"They’re perfect, Mother, so perfect they surpass anything I’ve known among the leading aristocracy of the three proudest noble classes: the English, Spanish, and Germanic."
The countess paused, then after a slight hesitation resumed: "You’ve seen the Count in his own home, my dear Albert, I ask as a mother, you’re perceptive, you know the world, you have more insight than most people your age. Do you think the Count is really what he appears to be?"
"What does he appear to be?"
"Why, you just said, a man of high distinction."
"I told you, Mother, he’s considered such."
"But what’s your own opinion, Albert?"
"I must tell you I haven’t formed a definite opinion about him, but I think he might be from that island nation in the Mediterranean."
"I’m not asking about his origin but what he is, his character."
"Ah, what he is, that’s quite different. I’ve seen so many remarkable things about him that if you want my honest opinion, I’d say he reminds me of those dark heroes from famous poems, men marked by fate with tragedy. You know the type: mysterious figures who’ve been disinherited from their families but achieved wealth and status through adventurous genius, placing themselves above society’s laws."
"You mean-"
"I mean his island is in the middle of the sea, without inhabitants or garrison, a haven for smugglers and pirates of all nations. Who knows if these enterprising criminals don’t pay their feudal lord some tribute for his protection?"
"That’s possible," the countess said thoughtfully.
"Regardless," the young man continued, "smuggler or not, you must agree, Mother, now that you’ve seen him, the Count of Monte Cristo is a remarkable man who’ll have tremendous success in high society here. Why, just this morning in my apartment, he amazed all my friends, even the most jaded among them."
"And how old do you suppose the Count is?" Mercedes asked, clearly attaching great importance to this question.
"Thirty-five or thirty-six, Mother."
"So young, it’s impossible," Mercedes said, responding both to Albert’s statement and her own private thoughts.
"It’s true, though. Three or four times he’s mentioned casually, without any preparation, ’at such a time I was five years old,’ or ’then I was ten,’ or ’at twelve.’ And I, curious about these details, compared the dates and never found him inaccurate. This singular man’s age, which seems ageless, is definitely thirty-five. Besides, Mother, notice how vivid his eyes are, how black his hair is, and his forehead, though so pale, is free from wrinkles. He’s not only vigorous but young."
The countess bowed her head as if beneath a wave of bitter thoughts.
"And has this man shown friendship toward you, Albert?" she asked with a nervous tremor.
"I believe so."
"And do you like him?"
"Why, he interests me despite my friend’s attempts to convince me he’s some supernatural being returned from the afterlife."
The countess shuddered.
"Albert," she said in a voice altered by emotion, "I’ve always warned you about new acquaintances. You’re a man now and can give me advice, yet I repeat: Albert, be careful."
"But Mother dear, for your advice to be useful, I need to know what to be cautious about. The Count never gambles, drinks only water with a little wine, and is so wealthy he couldn’t possibly need to borrow money from me, unless he’s mocking me. What should I fear from him?"
"You’re right," the countess said, "and my fears are just weakness, especially directed at a man who saved your life. How did your father receive him, Albert? We must be more than merely polite to the Count. Your father is sometimes preoccupied, his work makes him distracted, and he might unintentionally-"
"Nothing could have been more proper than Father’s behavior, madame," Albert said. "In fact, he seemed quite pleased by two or three compliments the Count paid him very skillfully and pleasantly, as if they’d known each other for thirty years. Each flattering comment must have delighted Father," Albert added with a laugh. "They parted the best of friends, and Father even wanted to take him to the legislative chamber to hear the debates."
The countess made no reply. She fell into such deep thought that her eyes gradually closed. The young man, standing before her, gazed at her with that tender affection characteristic of children whose mothers are still young and beautiful. Seeing her eyes closed and hearing her breathe gently, he believed she’d fallen asleep. He left the room on tiptoe, closing the door with extreme care.
"This remarkable fellow," he muttered, shaking his head. "I predicted he’d create a sensation here, and I’m measuring his effect by an infallible gauge. My mother noticed him, and therefore he must truly be extraordinary."
He went down to the stables, feeling slightly annoyed when he remembered the Count of Monte Cristo had acquired a carriage and horses that made his own prized possessions look second-rate to the city’s connoisseurs.
"Most decidedly," he said, "people are not equal, and I must ask Father to develop this theory in his next political speech."