Chapter 112: The Breakfast: IV
"I’ll keep my promise," Morcerf assured him, "but I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. You’re used to dramatic adventures and exotic landscapes. Here, you won’t find any of those episodes that have filled your adventurous life. Our mountains are just hills, our deserts are construction sites. We have thieves, though not as many as people claim, but these thieves fear the police far more than they fear gentlemen. France is so ordinary, and Paris so civilized, that across our entire country you won’t find a single hill without communication towers or a cave without electric lights.
There’s only one service I can offer: I’ll introduce you to everyone I know, or have my friends introduce you. Though honestly, with your name, your wealth, and your talents," Monte Cristo bowed with a slightly ironic smile, "you can introduce yourself anywhere and be welcomed. I can really only help with one thing: teaching you about Parisian customs and helping you find a suitable place to live. I won’t dare offer to share my apartment with you, as you shared yours with me in Rome. I claim not to be selfish, yet I’m actually the ultimate egotist. My rooms barely have space for me, unless that extra space were occupied by a woman."
"Ah," the Count said knowingly, "that’s quite the romantic reservation. I remember you mentioned something in Rome about a potential marriage. May I congratulate you?"
"It’s still in the planning stages."
"When someone says ’planning,’ it usually means already decided," Debray commented.
"Not quite," Morcerf replied. "My father is very eager for it. I hope to introduce you soon, if not to my wife, then at least to my fiancée, Eugénie Danglars."
"Eugénie Danglars," Monte Cristo repeated thoughtfully. "Her father is Baron Danglars?"
"Yes, newly titled."
"What does that matter," Monte Cristo said smoothly, "if he’s performed services for the country that earned him that distinction?"
"Enormous services," Beauchamp answered. "Though he’s supposedly liberal in politics, he negotiated a massive loan for the previous king in 1829. For that, he was made a baron and given a medal of honor, which he wears prominently on his jacket."
"Ah," Morcerf interrupted, laughing, "Beauchamp, save that gossip for your newspaper columns! Spare my future father-in-law in front of me." Then, turning to Monte Cristo: "You spoke his name as if you knew the baron?"
"I don’t know him personally," Monte Cristo replied, "but I’ll probably meet him soon. I have financial accounts opened with him through my banking partners in London, Vienna, and Rome."
As he mentioned the Rome connection, the Count glanced at Maximilian Morrel. If he’d hoped for a reaction, he got one, Maximilian looked as if he’d been shocked.
"Those bankers in Rome," Maximilian said urgently, "do you know them well?"
"They’re my bankers in Rome," the Count said calmly. "Can I help you with something involving them?"
"Oh, Count, you might be able to help me with research that’s been unsuccessful so far. That banking house did our family an enormous favor years ago, but for some unknown reason, they’ve always denied helping us."
"I’m at your service," Monte Cristo said, bowing.
"But anyway," Morcerf continued, "we’ve gotten completely off topic from Danglars. We were talking about finding the Count a suitable place to live. Come on, everyone, let’s suggest something. Where should we house our distinguished guest in our great capital?"
"The Saint-Germain district," Château-Renaud suggested. "The Count would find a charming mansion there with a courtyard and garden."
"Bah," Debray scoffed. "You only know your boring, gloomy old neighborhood. Don’t listen to him, Count. Live in the Chaussée d’Antin area, that’s the real center of Paris."
"Near the Opera," Beauchamp added. "Second floor, with a balcony. The Count can have his silver cushions brought there and watch all of Paris pass by while he smokes."
"What about you, Morrel?" Château-Renaud asked. "Don’t you have a suggestion?"
"Actually, I do," the young man said with a smile. "I expected one of these brilliant proposals would tempt him, but since he hasn’t responded to any of them, I’ll make my offer. I can provide him with a suite of apartments in a charming building in elegant style that my sister has lived in for a year, on Rue Meslay."
"You have a sister?" the Count asked with interest.
"Yes, an excellent sister."
"Married?"
"For nearly nine years."
"Is she happy?"
"As happy as any human being can be," Maximilian replied warmly. "She married the man she loved, who stayed loyal to our family even when our fortunes fell, Emmanuel Herbaut."
Monte Cristo smiled almost imperceptibly.
"I stay there during my leave," Maximilian continued. "My brother-in-law Emmanuel and I would be honored to serve the Count whenever he wishes."
"Wait a minute!" Albert interrupted before Monte Cristo could respond. "You’re going to trap a traveler, a man who’s come to see Paris! You’re going to turn him into a homebody!"
"Not at all," Morrel protested. "My sister is twenty-five, my brother-in-law is thirty. They’re cheerful, young, and happy. Besides, the Count would have his own space and only need to see them when he chooses."
"Thank you," Monte Cristo said graciously. "I’d be delighted to meet your sister and her husband if you’ll introduce me. However, I can’t accept any of these kind offers because my accommodation is already arranged."
"What?" Morcerf exclaimed. "You’re staying in a hotel? That’ll be terribly dull for you!"
"Was I poorly housed in Rome?" Monte Cristo asked with a smile.
"Good grief! In Rome you spent fifty thousand on furnishing your apartments. But surely you’re not planning to spend that kind of money every day?"
"That’s not what stopped me," the Count explained. "I was determined to have my own house, so I sent my personal servant ahead. By now, he should have purchased and furnished a house for me."
"But your servant knows Paris?" Beauchamp asked, surprised.
"It’s his first time here. He’s African and can’t speak," Monte Cristo replied.
"It’s Ali!" Albert burst out amid the general shock.
"Yes, Ali himself. My mute servant from North Africa, whom you saw in Rome."
"Of course!" Morcerf said. "I remember him well. But how could you possibly have someone who can’t speak buy and furnish a house? He’ll mess everything up!"
"You’re mistaken," Monte Cristo said confidently. "I’m certain he’s chosen everything exactly as I would want. He knows my tastes, my preferences, my needs. He’s been here for a week, hunting like a tracking dog for the perfect place. He knew I’d arrive today at ten o’clock. He met me at nine at the city gate and gave me this paper with my new address." He handed the paper to Albert.
"That’s genuinely impressive," Beauchamp said.
"And very aristocratic," Château-Renaud added.
"You don’t even know where your house is?" Debray asked incredulously.
"No," Monte Cristo said. "As I mentioned, I didn’t want to be late. I dressed in the carriage and came straight to the Viscount’s door."
The young men exchanged glances. They couldn’t tell if Monte Cristo was performing some elaborate act, but every word sounded so sincere that it seemed impossible he was lying. And why would he?
"Well then," Beauchamp said, "we’ll just have to help however we can. As a journalist, I can get you into any theater."
"Thank you," Monte Cristo replied, "but my steward has orders to reserve a box at every theater."
"Is your steward also from North Africa?" Debray asked.
"No, he’s from your country, if someone from Corsica can be said to be from any particular country. But you know him, Albert."
"Is it that excellent Monsieur Bertuccio, who’s so skilled at arranging things?"
"Yes, you saw him when I had the honor of hosting you. He’s been a soldier, a smuggler, everything, really. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he’d had some trouble with the police at some point, perhaps something involving a knife fight."
"And you chose this honest citizen as your steward?" Debray asked with amusement. "How much does he steal from you every year?"
"Honestly," the Count replied, "probably no more than anyone else would. He serves my purposes well and considers nothing impossible, so I keep him."
"Well then," Château-Renaud continued, "since you have a household staff, a steward, and a mansion in the most fashionable district, you only need a mistress."
Albert smiled, thinking of the beautiful Greek woman he’d seen in the Count’s theater box.
"I have something better than that," Monte Cristo said. "I have a slave. You obtain your mistresses from theaters and entertainment venues. I purchased mine in Constantinople. She cost me more, but I have nothing to fear."
"But you’re forgetting," Debray said, laughing, "that we’re a free country. The moment she sets foot in France, your slave becomes free."
"Who will tell her?"
"The first person who sees her."
"She only speaks Greek."
"That’s different then."
"At least let us see her," Beauchamp pressed. "Or do you keep guards around her too?"
"Oh no," Monte Cristo replied. "I’m not that brutal. Everyone around me is free to leave whenever they wish. And when they leave, they’ll never need me or anyone else again. Perhaps that’s why they don’t leave."
By now they’d long since finished dessert and moved on to cigars.
"My dear Albert," Debray said, standing up, "it’s two-thirty. Your guest is fascinating, but sometimes one must leave the best company for less pleasant obligations. I need to return to the minister’s office. I’ll tell him about the Count, and we’ll soon discover who he really is."
"Be careful," Albert warned. "No one has managed that yet."
"We have three million in our budget for intelligence work. True, it’s usually already spent, but we can spare fifty thousand for this purpose."
"And when you find out, will you tell me?"
"I promise. Goodbye, Albert. Gentlemen, good day."
As he left, Debray called out loudly, "My carriage!"
"Excellent," Beauchamp said to Albert. "I won’t go to the assembly today. I have something better to offer my readers than another boring political speech."
"For heaven’s sake, Beauchamp," Morcerf pleaded, "don’t rob me of the honor of introducing him everywhere. Isn’t he extraordinary?"
"He’s more than that," Château-Renaud agreed. "He’s one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever encountered. Are you coming, Morrel?"
"Just let me give the Count my card. He’s promised to visit us at 14 Rue Meslay."
"I certainly won’t forget," the Count assured him, bowing.
Maximilian Morrel left with Baron de Château-Renaud, leaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.