English
MadamedeMorcerfenteredanarchwayoftreeswithhercompanion.Itledthroughagroveoflindenstoaconservatory.
“Itwastoowarmintheroom,wasitnot,count?”sheasked.
“Yes,madame;anditwasanexcellentideaofyourstoopenthedoorsandtheblinds.”
Asheceasedspeaking,thecountfeltthehandofMercedestremble.
“Butyou,”hesaid,“withthatlightdress,andwithoutanythingtocoveryoubutthatgauzescarf,perhapsyoufeelcold?”
“DoyouknowwhereIamleadingyou?”saidthecountess,withoutreplyingtothequestion.
“No,madame,”repliedMonteCristo;“butyouseeImakenoresistance.”
“Wearegoingtothegreenhousethatyouseeattheotherendofthegrove.”
ThecountlookedatMercedesasiftointerrogateher,butshecontinuedtowalkoninsilence,andherefrainedfromspeaking.
Theyreachedthebuilding,ornamentedwithmagnificentfruits,whichripenatthebeginningofJulyintheartificialtemperaturewhichtakestheplaceofthesun,sofrequentlyabsentinourclimate.
ThecountessleftthearmofMonteCristo,andgatheredabunchofMuscatelgrapes.
“See,count,”shesaid,withasmilesosadinitsexpressionthatonecouldalmostdetectthetearsonhereyelids—”see,ourFrenchgrapesarenottobecompared,Iknow,withyoursofSicilyandCyprus,butyouwillmakeallowanceforournorthernsun.”Thecountbowed,butsteppedback.“Doyourefuse?”saidMercedes,inatremulousvoice.
“Prayexcuseme,madame,”repliedMonteCristo,“butInevereatMuscatelgrapes.”
Mercedesletthemfall,andsighed.Amagnificentpeachwashangingagainstanadjoiningwall,ripenedbythesameartificialheat.
Mercedesdrewnear,andpluckedthefruit.“Takethispeach,then,”shesaid.Thecountagainrefused.“What,again?”
sheexclaimed,insoplaintiveanaccentthatitseemedtostifleasob;“really,youpainme.”
Alongsilencefollowed;thepeach,likethegrapes,felltotheground.
“Count,”addedMercedeswithasupplicatingglance,“thereisabeautifulArabiancustom,whichmakeseternalfriendsofthosewhohavetogethereatenbreadandsaltunderthesameroof.”
“Iknowit,madame,”repliedthecount;“butweareinFrance,andnotinArabia,andinFranceeternalfriendshipsareasrareasthecustomofdividingbreadandsaltwithoneanother.”
“But,”saidthecountess,breathlessly,withhereyesfixedonMonteCristo,whosearmsheconvulsivelypressedwithbothhands,“wearefriends,arewenot?”
Thecountbecamepaleasdeath,thebloodrushedtohisheart,andthenagainrising,dyedhischeekswithcrimson;hiseyesswamlikethoseofamansuddenlydazzled.
“Certainly,wearefriends,”hereplied;“whyshouldwenotbe?”
TheanswerwassolittleliketheoneMercedesdesired,thatsheturnedawaytogiveventtoasigh,whichsoundedmorelikeagroan.“Thankyou,”shesaid.Andtheywalkedonagain.
Theywentthewholelengthofthegardenwithoututteringaword.
“Sir,”suddenlyexclaimedthecountess,aftertheirwalkhadcontinuedtenminutesinsilence,“isittruethatyouhaveseensomuch,travelledsofar,andsufferedsodeeply?”
“Ihavesuffereddeeply,madame,”answeredMonteCristo.
“Butnowyouarehappy?”
“Doubtless,”repliedthecount,“sincenoonehearsmecomplain.”
“Andyourpresenthappiness,hasitsoftenedyourheart?”
“Mypresenthappinessequalsmypastmisery,”saidthecount.
“Areyounotmarried?”askedthecountess.“Imarried?”exclaimedMonteCristo,shuddering;“whocouldhavetoldyouso?”
“Noonetoldmeyouwere,butyouhavefrequentlybeenseenattheoperawithayoungandlovelywoman.”
“SheisaslavewhomIboughtatConstantinople,madame,thedaughterofaprince.Ihaveadoptedherasmydaughter,havingnooneelsetoloveintheworld.”
“Youlivealone,then?”
“Ido.”
“Youhavenosister—noson—nofather?”
“Ihavenoone.”
“Howcanyouexistthuswithoutanyonetoattachyoutolife?”
“Itisnotmyfault,madame.AtMalta,Ilovedayounggirl,wasonthepointofmarryingher,whenwarcameandcarriedmeaway.
Ithoughtshelovedmewellenoughtowaitforme,andeventoremainfaithfultomymemory.WhenIreturnedshewasmarried.
Thisisthehistoryofmostmenwhohavepassedtwentyyearsofage.
Perhapsmyheartwasweakerthantheheartsofmostmen,andIsufferedmorethantheywouldhavedoneinmyplace;thatisall.”
Thecountessstoppedforamoment,asifgaspingforbreath.
“Yes,”shesaid,“andyouhavestillpreservedthisloveinyourheart—onecanonlyloveonce—anddidyoueverseeheragain?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“Ineverreturnedtothecountrywhereshelived.”
“ToMalta?”
“Yes;Malta.”
“Sheis,then,nowatMalta?”
“Ithinkso.”
“Andhaveyouforgivenherforallshehasmadeyousuffer?”
“Her,—yes.”
“Butonlyher;doyouthenstillhatethosewhoseparatedyou?”
“Ihatethem?Notatall;whyshouldI?”
ThecountessplacedherselfbeforeMonteCristo,stillholdinginherhandaportionoftheperfumedgrapes.“Takesome,”shesaid.
“Madame,InevereatMuscatelgrapes,”repliedMonteCristo,asifthesubjecthadnotbeenmentionedbefore.
Thecountessdashedthegrapesintothenearestthicket,withagestureofdespair.“Inflexibleman!”shemurmured.
MonteCristoremainedasunmovedasifthereproachhadnotbeenaddressedtohim.Albertatthismomentranin.
“Oh,mother,”heexclaimed,“suchamisfortunehishappened!”
“What?Whathashappened?”askedthecountess,asthoughawakeningfromasleeptotherealitiesoflife;“didyousayamisfortune?Indeed,Ishouldexpectmisfortunes.”
“M.deVillefortishere.”
“Well?”
“Hecomestofetchhiswifeanddaughter.”
“Whyso?”
“BecauseMadamedeSaint–MeranisjustarrivedinParis,bringingthenewsofM.deSaint–Meran’sdeath,whichtookplaceonthefirststageafterheleftMarseilles.
MadamedeVillefort,whowasinverygoodspirits,wouldneitherbelievenorthinkofthemisfortune,butMademoiselleValentine,atthefirstwords,guessedthewholetruth,notwithstandingalltheprecautionsofherfather;theblowstruckherlikeathunderbolt,andshefellsenseless.”
“AndhowwasM.deSaint–MeranrelatedtoMademoiselledeVillefort?”saidthecount.
“Hewashergrandfatheronthemother’sside.HewascomingheretohastenhermarriagewithFranz.”
“Ah,indeed?”
“SoFranzmustwait.WhywasnotM.deSaint–MeranalsograndfathertoMademoiselleDanglars?”
“Albert,Albert,”saidMadamedeMorcerf,inatoneofmildreproof,“whatareyousaying?
Ah,count,heesteemsyousohighly,tellhimthathehasspokenamiss.”
Andshetooktwoorthreestepsforward.
MonteCristowatchedherwithanairsothoughtful,andsofullofaffectionateadmiration,thatsheturnedbackandgraspedhishand;atthesametimesheseizedthatofherson,andjoinedthemtogether.
“Wearefriends;arewenot?”sheasked.
“Oh,madame,Idonotpresumetocallmyselfyourfriend,butatalltimesIamyourmostrespectfulservant.”
Thecountessleftwithanindescribablepanginherheart,andbeforeshehadtakentenstepsthecountsawherraiseherhandkerchieftohereyes.“Donotmymotherandyouagree?”askedAlbert,astonished.
“Onthecontrary,”repliedthecount,“didyounothearherdeclarethatwewerefriends?”
Theyre–enteredthedrawing–room,whichValentineandMadamedeVilleforthadjustquitted.
ItisperhapsneedlesstoaddthatMorreldepartedalmostatthesametime.
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