"Are you not married?" asked the countess."I married?"exclaimed Monte Cristo, shuddering; "who could have told you so?""No one told me you were, but you have frequently been seen at the opera with a young and lovely woman.""She is a slave whom I bought at Constantinople, madame, the daughter of a prince.I have adopted her as my daughter, having no one else to love in the world.""You live alone, then?"
"I do."
"You have no sister -- no son -- no father?""I have no one."
"How can you exist thus without any one to attach you to life?""It is not my fault, madame.At Malta, I loved a young girl, was on the point of marrying her, when war came and carried me away.I thought she loved me well enough to wait for me, and even to remain faithful to my memory.When I returned she was married.This is the history of most men who have passed twenty years of age.Perhaps my heart was weaker than the hearts of most men, and I suffered more than they would have done in my place; that is all." The countess stopped for a moment, as if gasping for breath."Yes," she said, "and you have still preserved this love in your heart -- one can only love once -- and did you ever see her again?""Never."
"Never?"
"I never returned to the country where she lived.""To Malta?"
"Yes; Malta."
"She is, then, now at Malta?"
"I think so."
"And have you forgiven her for all she has made you suffer?""Her, -- yes."
"But only her; do you then still hate those who separated you?""I hate them? Not at all; why should I?" The countess placed herself before Monte Cristo, still holding in her hand a portion of the perfumed grapes."Take some," she said.
"Madame, I never eat Muscatel grapes," replied Monte Cristo, as if the subject had not been mentioned before.The countess dashed the grapes into the nearest thicket, with a gesture of despair."Inflexible man!" she murmured.Monte Cristo remained as unmoved as if the reproach had not been addressed to him.Albert at this moment ran in."Oh, mother," he exclaimed, "such a misfortune his happened!""What? What has happened?" asked the countess, as though awakening from a sleep to the realities of life; "did you say a misfortune? Indeed, I should expect misfortunes.""M.de Villefort is here."
"Well?"
"He comes to fetch his wife and daughter.""Why so?"
"Because Madame de Saint-Meran is just arrived in Paris, bringing the news of M.de Saint-Meran's death, which took place on the first stage after he left Marseilles.Madame de Villefort, who was in very good spirits, would neither believe nor think of the misfortune, but Mademoiselle Valentine, at the first words, guessed the whole truth, notwithstanding all the precautions of her father; the blow struck her like a thunderbolt, and she fell senseless.""And how was M.de Saint-Meran related to Mademoiselle de Villefort?" said the count.
"He was her grandfather on the mother's side.He was coming here to hasten her marriage with Franz.""Ah, indeed?"
"So Franz must wait.Why was not M.de Saint-Meran also grandfather to Mademoiselle Danglars?""Albert, Albert," said Madame de Morcerf, in a tone of mild reproof, "what are you saying? Ah, count, he esteems you so highly, tell him that he has spoken amiss." And she took two or three steps forward.Monte Cristo watched her with an air so thoughtful, and so full of affectionate admiration, that she turned back and grasped his hand; at the same time she seized that of her son, and joined them together.
"We are friends; are we not?" she asked.
"Oh, madame, I do not presume to call myself your friend, but at all times I am your most respectful servant." The countess left with an indescribable pang in her heart, and before she had taken ten steps the count saw her raise her handkerchief to her eyes."Do not my mother and you agree?"asked Albert, astonished.
"On the contrary," replied the count, "did you not hear her declare that we were friends?" They re-entered the drawing-room, which Valentine and Madame de Villefort had just quitted.It is perhaps needless to add that Morrel departed almost at the same time.