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When Albert was alone with Monte Cristo, he said: "Monsieur le Comte, let me embark on my duties as your guide by showing you this example of a bachelor apartment. Accustomed as you are to Italian palaces, it will be interesting for you to estimate in how few square feet a young man can live in Paris without being counted among those who are the most poorly housed. As we pass from one room to the next, we shall open the windows to allow you to breathe."

Monte Cristo already knew the dining-room and the downstairs drawing-room. Firstly, Albert conducted him to his attic; this, you will remember, was his favourite room.

Monte Cristo was well able to appreciate all the things that Albert had amassed in the room: old chests, Japanese porcelain, oriental cloths, jewels of Venetian glass and weapons from every country in the world: he was familiar with all these things and needed only a glance to recognize century, country and provenance. Morcerf imagined that he would do the explaining, but on the contrary, under the count's guidance, he found himself taking lessons in archaeology, mineralogy and natural history. They came back down to the first floor and Albert showed his guest into the drawing-room. The walls here were hung with modern paintings: there were landscapes by Dupré, with long reeds, slender trees, lowing cows and wonderful skies; there were Arab riders by Delacroix, dressed in flowing white burnous, with shining belts and damascened weapons, whose horses were biting their own flanks in fury while the riders rent one another with iron maces; there were watercolours by Boulanger illustrating the whole of Notre-Dame de Paris with the energy that makes the painter the equal of the poet; there were canvases by Diaz, who makes flowers more lovely than flowers and a sun brighter than the sun; drawings by Decamps, as highly coloured as those of Salvator Rosa, but more poetic; pastels by Giraud and Müller depicting children with angel faces and women with virginal features; pages torn from Dauzat's sketchbook of his journeys to the East, drawn in a few seconds on the saddle of a camel or beneath the dome of a mosque; in short, everything that modern art can offer in exchange and compensation for the art lost and vanished with earlier centuries.

From the drawing-room they went into the bedroom. This was at the same time a model of elegance and austere in its taste. Only one portrait here, but by Léopold Robert, magnificent in its burnished gold frame. The portrait at once attracted the Count of Monte Cristo's attention, because he took three rapid paces across the room and stopped in front of it.

Here, at least, Albert expected to show the stranger something new but, to his great astonishment, the count, without even having to look for the signature (some of those in any case only took the form of initials), instantly put the name of each artist on his work, so that it was easy to see that not only was each of these names already known to him, but that he had also studied and judged each of these talented artists.

It showed a young woman of twenty-five or twenty-six, dark in colouring, her burning eyes veiled beneath languorous lids. She was wearing the picturesque costume of a Catalan fisherwoman, with a red-and-black bodice and her hair held back with gold pins. She was looking at the sea, so that her elegant figure was outlined against the two blues, of the sky and the waves.

There was a moment's silence, in which Monte Cristo remained with his eyes unwaveringly fixed on the painting. "You have a beautiful mistress there, Vicomte," he said, in a perfectly calm voice. "And this costume, no doubt intended for the ball, suits her astonishingly well."

Had it not been dark in the room, Albert would have observed the livid pallor that spread across the count's cheeks and noticed the nervous tremor that shook his shoulders and his chest.

"Ah, Monsieur!" Albert said. "I should not forgive you this mistake, if you had seen any other portrait beside this one. You do not know my mother, Monsieur. She is the person in that picture, which she had done six or eight years ago, dressed like this in some imaginary costume, apparently; the resemblance is so good that I feel I can still see my mother as she was in 1830. The countess had the portrait done for herself while the count was away. No doubt she intended to give him a pleasant surprise when he returned, but, oddly enough, the portrait displeased my father and the value of the canvas which, as you can see, is one of Léopold Robert's excellent works, could not overcome the dislike he had conceived for it. Between ourselves, my dear Count, it is true to say that Monsieur de Morcerf is one of the most conscientious peers in the Upper Chamber and a general renowned for his theories, but a very poor connoisseur of art. The same is not true of my mother, who paints remarkably well and has too much respect for such a work to relinquish it altogether and who gave it to me so that in my house it would be less liable to upset Monsieur de Morcerf. I shall shortly show you his portrait, painted by Gros. Forgive me if I seem to chatter on about domestic matters and my family, but as I shall later have the honour of introducing you to the count I am telling you this so that you will know not to praise this portrait in front of him. In any case, it has an unhappy aura. My mother very seldom comes to my house without looking at it and still less often does she look at it without weeping. The cloud that entered our household with the appearance in it of this painting is the only one that has ever fallen across the count and countess who, though they have been married for more than twenty years, are still as closely united as on the very first day."

Monte Cristo bowed in reply. He accepted the proposal without enthusiasm or reluctance, as one of those social conventions with which every well-bred man must comply. Albert called his valet and told him to go and advise M. and Mme de Morcerf that the Count of Monte Cristo would shortly wait on them. Albert and the count followed him.

Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albert as if to discover some hidden meaning behind his words, but it was clear that the young man had spoken with all the candour of his simple heart.

"Now that you have seen all my riches, Monsieur le Comte," he continued, "allow me to offer them to you, unworthy though they are. Consider this your home here and, to put you still more at your ease, pray accompany me to Monsieur de Morcerf's. I wrote from Rome to tell him of the service you had done me and to announce that you had promised to visit me. I may tell you that the count and countess are impatient to thank you. I know, Monsieur le Comte, that you are a little blasé about everything, and that Sinbad the Sailor is little touched by scenes of family life: you have witnessed other so much more exciting ones! However, as your initiation to Parisian life, allow me to offer you the round of daily etiquette, visits and introductions."

"Azur, seven merlets, or, placed bender. No doubt this is your family's coat of arms, Monsieur? Apart from the knowledge of the elements of the shield that permits me to decipher it, I am very ignorant in matters of heraldry, being myself an accidental count, fabricated by Tuscany with the help of a commandership of Saint Stephen: I should never have passed myself off as a great nobleman were it not that I was repeatedly told this was absolutely necessary for anyone who travels a lot. When it comes down to it, one must have something on the doors of one's coach to dissuade the Customs from searching it. So forgive me for asking."

"The question is not at all indiscreet, Monsieur," Morcerf replied in the frank tones of someone who believed what he said. "You are right: this is our coat of arms, that is to say it bears my father's crest, but attached to a shield that is gules with a silver tower, bearing my mother's crest. On her side I am Spanish, but the Morcerfs are French and, so I am told, one of the oldest families in the south of France."

On reaching the count's antechamber, the visitor could see a shield above the door leading to the reception room which, being extravagantly mounted and made to harmonize with the décor of the room, indicated the importance that the owner of the mansion attached to this coat of arms. Monte Cristo paused in front of it and examined it carefully.

"That may be so," said Morcerf. "Somewhere in my father's study there is a family tree which will answer these questions for us; I used to have a commentary on it that would have meant a lot to d'Hozier and Jaucourt. Nowadays I don't bother about it, but I should tell you, Monsieur le Comte -- and this falls within my scope as your guide -- that people are starting to worry a great deal about such things under this popular government of ours."

"Yes," said Monte Cristo, "that is shown by the merlets or blackbirds. Almost all the crusaders who conquered, or tried to conquer, the Holy Land took either crosses as their emblems, as a sign of the mission to which they had dedicated themselves, or else migratory birds, as a symbol of the long journey that they intended to undertake and which they hoped to accomplish on the wings of faith. One of your paternal ancestors must have taken part in the Crusades; and, if it was only the Crusade led by Saint Louis, that already takes us back to the thirteenth century, which is already a very fine thing."

"Well then, your government should have chosen something better from French history than those two placards I have noticed on your public monuments, which are meaningless in heraldic terms. As for you, Viscount," Monte Cristo continued, turning back towards Morcerf, "you are luckier than your government, because your coat of arms is truly beautiful and inspiring. Yes, that is it: you come both from Provence and from Spain and, if the portrait you showed me is a good likeness, that explains the fine tan that I so greatly admired on the face of the Catalan."

In the most prominent place on the walls of the room there was another portrait. It depicted a man of between thirty-five and thirty-eight years old, wearing a general's uniform with the twisted double epaulette that indicates the higher ranks and the ribbon of the Legion of Honour around his neck, showing that he was a Commander of the Order. On his chest, to the right, he wore the medal of a Grand Officer of the Order of the Saviour and, to the left, that of the Great Cross of Charles III, demonstrating that the person represented in the portrait must have fought in the Spanish and Greek Wars, or else (this being identical as far as medals were concerned) have carried out some diplomatic mission in those two countries.

One would have needed to be Oedipus or the Sphinx itself to detect the irony that the count put into these words, which were apparently delivered with the finest good manners. Morcerf consequently thanked him with a smile and, going ahead to show him the way, opened the door beneath his coat of arms, which, as we mentioned, led into the reception room.

The count was aged between forty and forty-five but had the appearance of a man of at least fifty. His dark moustache and eyebrows contrasted oddly with almost white hair, cut short in the military manner. He was dressed in the everyday clothes of a man of his class; the different strands of the ribbon that he wore in his buttonhole recalled the various orders with which he had been decorated. He came in with quite an aristocratic step and, at the same time, a sort of condescending alacrity. Monte Cristo watched him approach without taking a step to meet him: it was as though his feet were fixed to the floor and his eyes on the Comte de Morcerf's face.

Monte Cristo was examining this portrait with no less attention than he had given to the other when a side door opened and he was confronted with the Comte de Morcerf himself.

"Father," the young man said, "I have the honour to introduce the Count of Monte Cristo, the generous friend whom I was fortunate enough to meet in the awkward circumstances about which I told you."

"Monsieur is welcome to my house," the Comte de Morcerf said, smiling and bowing to Monte Cristo. "He has done our family such a favour, in preserving its only heir, that it will elicit our eternal gratitude." As he spoke, the Comte de Morcerf motioned to a chair and, at the same time, took one himself facing the window.

"Madame la Comtesse was at her toilet," Morcerf said, "when the vicomte asked her to be informed that she had the good fortune to receive our guest. She will come down shortly and join us in ten minutes' time."

As for Monte Cristo, while he took the chair that the Comte de Morcerf had indicated, he repositioned it in such a way as to remain hidden in the shadow of the great velvet curtains. From there he could read in the count's tired and careworn features a whole history of secret sorrows which lay imprinted there in each of the lines that the years had marked on it.

"It is a great honour for me," Monte Cristo said, "on the very day of my arrival in Paris, to meet a man whose merits are equal to his reputation and whom Fortune, just once, has not been mistaken in favouring. But did she not have a marshal's baton to offer you, somewhere on the plains of Mitidja or in the Atlas Mountains?"

"It is things such as these that maintain your people's superiority over others, Monsieur," Monte Cristo replied. "You, a nobleman of good family, heir to a large fortune, agreed first of all to make your way up from the ranks, which is very rare. Then, having become a general, a peer of the realm and a Commander of the Legion of Honour, you were willing to undertake a second apprenticeship, with no other expectation and no other reward than that of one day being useful to your fellow men. Monsieur! This is truly fine! I will go further: it is sublime!"

"Oh!" Morcerf exclaimed, blushing slightly. "I have left the service, Monsieur. I was given my peerage under the Restoration and served under Maréchal de Bourmont. For that reason, I might have hoped for some higher command: who knows what would have happened if the senior branch of the royal family had remained on the throne! But it seems that the July Revolution was glorious enough to afford ingratitude: it behaved thus to all whose service did not date back to the empire. So I resigned because, when a man has won his epaulettes on the battlefield, he does not know how to manoeuvre on the slippery surface of a drawing-room. I put down my sword and devoted myself to politics, to industry; I studied the useful arts. I had wanted to do that during my twenty years' service to my country, but I did not have time."

"Oh, father," said Albert, smiling, "you clearly do not know the Count of Monte Cristo. He finds satisfaction elsewhere than in the things of this world and does not aspire to any honours, taking only those that can fit on his passport."

"But, Monsieur," the Comte de Morcerf replied, "Italy is not a homeland for a man of your worth and France may not be ungrateful to all: it treats its own children badly, but usually has a magnificent welcome for foreigners."

Albert was watching and listening to Monte Cristo with astonishment. He was not accustomed to seeing him fired with such enthusiasm.

"Alas," the foreigner went on, no doubt to lift the hardly perceptible cloud that his words had brought to the elder Morcerf's brow, "we should not behave in that way in Italy. There we grow according to our genus and our species, keeping the same foliage, the same height and often the same inutility all our lives."

"Monsieur was able to control his own future," the Comte de Morcerf said, sighing, "and chose a pathway lined with flowers."

"That is the most accurate description of myself that I have ever heard," the stranger said.

"If I had not been afraid of tiring the count," said the general, clearly charmed by Monte Cristo's manners, "I should have taken him to the Chamber. Today's sitting will be unusual for anyone who does not know our modern senators."

"Precisely, Monsieur," Monte Cristo retorted, with one of those smiles that no painter could ever catch and a physiologist would despair of analysing.

"I should be very grateful to you, Monsieur, if you would be good enough to renew the invitation at some later date; but today I have been flattered that I might be introduced to the countess, so I shall wait."

"Here is my mother!" the vicomte exclaimed.

Monte Cristo, urgently swivelling on his seat, saw Mme de Morcerf at the entrance to the room, in the threshold of the door opposite the one by which her husband had entered: pale and motionless, she let her arm fall, when Monte Cristo turned around, from the gilt door-frame on which, for some unknown reason, she had rested it; she had been there for some minutes, hearing the last words that the southern visitor had spoken.

He got up and bowed deeply to the countess, who formally returned the bow in silence.

"Heavens above, Madame!" the Comte de Morcerf exclaimed. "What is the matter? Is the heat of the room making you unwell?"

The count bowed again, more profoundly than the first time. He was even paler than Mercédès. "Madame," he said, "Monsieur le Comte and you are too generous in rewarding me for a very simple action. To save a man's life, to spare a father's torment and to protect a mother's feelings is not a good deed, it is an act of mere humanity."

She thanked them both with a smile. "No," she said, "but I was moved at seeing for the first time the man without whose help we should now be in tears and in mourning. Monsieur," she went on, coming across the room with the bearing of a queen, "I owe you my son's life and I bless you for that. Now I must acknowledge the pleasure that you have brought me, in allowing me this opportunity to thank you as I bless you, namely from the depth of my heart."

"Are you ill, mother?" the viscount asked, hurrying over to Mercédès.

"Madame," he said, "I have already made my excuses to the count for being obliged to leave him. I beg you to repeat them. The sitting began at two o'clock, it is now three, I must leave."

M. de Morcerf went across to her.

"Very well, Monsieur, I shall try to make our guest overlook your absence," the countess said in the same feeling voice. Then, turning to Monte Cristo: "Monsieur le Comte, will you do us the honour of spending the rest of the day with us?"

"Thank you, Madame. Believe me, I could not be more grateful for your invitation, but I stepped off this morning at your door from my travelling carriage. I have no idea how I am to be lodged in Paris; indeed, I hardly know where. I realize that this is a small cause of anxiety, but an appreciable one, nonetheless."

Mme de Morcerf answered these words, which had been spoken with exquisite gentleness and good manners, in tones of profound feeling: "Monsieur, my son is very fortunate to have you as a friend and I thank God that He has brought this to pass." And Mercédès raised her lovely eyes to heaven with such infinite gratitude that the count thought he could detect a tear rising in each of them.

Monte Cristo bowed, without replying; but the gesture could be taken for one of assent.

"At least you will promise that we shall have the pleasure some other time?" asked the countess.

"Thank you a thousand times, Vicomte, you are most considerate; but I presume that Monsieur Bertuccio has been making good use of the four and a half hours that I have accorded him, and that I shall find a fully harnessed coach waiting at the door."

"My dear Count," said Albert, "I should like, if you will permit me, to return the favour that you did us in Rome and put my coupé at your disposal until you have had time to arrange a suitable conveyance for yourself."

Albert was used to the count's ways and knew that, like Nero, he was in pursuit of the impossible, so nothing surprised him. However, he wanted to judge for himself how well the count's order had been obeyed, so he accompanied him to the door of the house.

"In that case, I shall not detain you, Monsieur, for I should not wish my gratitude to obtrude on your time or to importune you."

It was a coupé from the Keller workshops, harnessed to a team for which, as every dandy in Paris knew, Drake had only the day before refused 18,000 francs.

Monte Cristo had guessed right. No sooner did he appear in the Comte de Morcerf's anteroom than a footman (the same who in Rome had brought the two young men the count's card and announced that he would visit them) rushed out through the colonnade, so that when the illustrious traveller reached the steps he found his carriage waiting.

"If you are asking me for a day, Monsieur le Comte, then I feel certain that it will not be a house that you show me, but a palace. There's no doubt about it: you have some genie at your command."

"Monsieur," the count said to Albert, "I will not invite you to accompany me, because I could only show you improvised lodgings -- and, as you know, I have my reputation to keep up where improvisation is concerned. Grant me a day and then let me invite you: I shall be more certain that I am not breaching the laws of hospitality."

"Please, please, put it around!" said the count, with one foot on the velvet-covered steps of his magnificent carriage. "It will do me no harm with the ladies." At this, he leapt into his coach, slamming the door behind him, and set off at a gallop, though not so fast that he failed to notice the barely perceptible movement of the curtains in the drawing-room where he had left Mme de Morcerf.

Albert could not see the countess's face, which was hidden by a cloud of gauze that she had wrapped around her head like a halo of vapour, but he thought that her voice sounded odd and, above the scent of rose and heliotrope rising from the bowl of flowers, he could distinguish the sharp and bitter smell of sal volatile. Indeed, the young man could observe the countess's phial of smelling-salts, out of its shagreen case, resting on one of the mouldings of the mantelpiece. "Are you well, mother?" he cried as he came in. "Did you feel faint while I was away?"

When Albert rejoined his mother indoors, he found her in the boudoir, slumped in a large velvet armchair. The whole room was deep in shadow, concealing everything except the highlights sparkling on some oriental vase or in the corner of a gilded picture-frame.

"In that case, mother," Morcerf said, reaching for the bell, "we must have them taken into your dressing-room. You are really unwell: you were already very pale a short while ago when you came in."

"A pale complexion suits you wonderfully, mother, but, even so, my father and I were concerned."

"Do you think I was pale, Albert?"

"Not to me: you remember, he made the observation to you, yourself."

"I? No, Albert. But, you know, in this early heat, before we have had time to become accustomed to it, all these roses, tuberoses and orange flowers give off such a powerful scent…"

"Did your father remark on it?" Mercédès asked urgently.

The valet obeyed. There was quite a long silence, which lasted as long as it took him to complete the task. "What is this title of Monte Cristo?" the countess asked, when the servant had left with the last vase of flowers. "Is it the name of a family, a place, or simply a title?"

A valet entered in answer to Albert's summons.

"I don't recall," said the countess.

"Take these flowers into the antechamber or the dressing-room," the viscount said. "The countess is incommoded by them."

"I believe it is simply a title, mother, nothing more. The count bought an island in the Tuscan archipelago and, as he told me only this morning, founded a chivalric commandership. You know that the same was done for Saint Stephen of Florence, for Saint George Constantinian of Parma and even for the Knights of Malta. In any case, he has no pretension to nobility and calls himself an accidental count, though the general opinion in Rome is that he is a very noble aristocrat."

"His manners are excellent," the countess said. "At least, as far as one can tell from the short while he stayed here."

"They are perfect, mother; even so perfect as greatly to surpass those I have found among the noblest members of the three proudest aristocracies in Europe, that is the nobility of England, Spain and Germany."

The countess thought for a moment, then continued: "My dear Albert, you have seen… You understand, this is a mother's question that I am asking… You have seen Monsieur de Monte Cristo at home. You are perspicacious, you know the world and you have more tact than is usual at your age. Do you think that the count is really all that he appears to be?"

"And what do you think, Albert?"

"I said, mother, that he was thought to be one."

"What does he appear to be?"

"I must admit that I have no definite view on the matter. I think he is a Maltese."

"Ah, that's quite a different matter. I have seen so many strange things to do with him that, if you ask what I think, I would say that I am inclined to consider him as some kind of Byronic figure, branded by Fate's dread seal: some Manfred, some Lara, some Werner… In short, one of those rejects of an old aristocratic family, cut off from the paternal inheritance, who made a fortune for themselves by the force of a daring and a genius that put them above the laws of society…"

"You said it yourself a moment ago: a great nobleman."

"I am not asking about his nationality, I am asking you about the man himself."

"I mean that Monte Cristo is an island in the Mediterranean, uninhabited, unguarded, the haunt of smugglers of all nations and pirates from every shore. Who knows whether these industrious workers may not pay their lord for giving them asylum?"

"What do you mean?"

"No matter," the young man went on. "Smuggler or not, you must admit, having seen him, mother, that the Count of Monte Cristo is a remarkable man and one who will be a great success in the drawing-rooms of Paris. Why, this very morning, at my house, he began his progress in high society by astonishing even Château-Renaud."

"How old do you think the count is?" Mercédès asked, clearly attaching great importance to the question.

"Between thirty-five and thirty-six, mother."

"So young! It's impossible," Mercédès exclaimed, replying at once to what Albert was saying and to her own thoughts.

"Possibly," the countess said distractedly.

"It is true, even so. Three or four times he said to me, assuredly without any premeditation: at that time I was five; at this other, I was ten; and at another, twelve. I was so curious about the smallest detail that I compared the dates and never found any discrepancy. This remarkable man is ageless, but I can assure you that he is thirty-five. In any case, mother, remember the brightness of his eye, the darkness of his hair and how his brow, though pale, is unfurrowed. This is someone who is not only active, but still young."

"I believe so, mother."

"Do you also like him?"

The countess lowered her head as if bowed under a mass of ideas that completely absorbed her. "And this man has conceived a liking for you, Albert? He wants to be your friend?" she asked, with a nervous shudder.

"I do, in spite of Franz d'Epinay trying to make me believe he was a spectre returning from the Beyond."

The countess shrank back in terror and said, in a strained voice: "Albert, I have always warned you against new acquaintances. Now you are a man and old enough to advise me. Yet I repeat: Albert, beware."

"My dear mother, to profit from your advice, I should need to know in advance what I am supposed to beware of. The count never gambles, the count only ever drinks water, coloured with a little Spanish wine, and the count has declared himself to be so rich that he could not borrow money from me without appearing ridiculous. What can I fear from the count?"

"You are right," his mother said. "My anxiety is foolish, especially when directed towards the man who saved your life. By the way, Albert, did your father receive him suitably? It is important for us to be more than polite with the count. Monsieur de Morcerf is sometimes so busy and his work preoccupies him so, that he may involuntarily have…"

"Damn the man," he muttered, shaking his head. "I predicted to him in Rome that he would be a sensation in Parisian society; now I can measure his effect on an infallible thermometer. My mother remarked on him, so he must indeed be remarkable."

"My father was perfect, mother," Albert interrupted. "I would go further: he seemed greatly flattered by two or three very subtle compliments that the count made -- as finely turned and surely aimed as if he had known him for the past thirty years. Each of these eulogistic little darts must have flattered my father so much," he added, with a laugh, "that they separated the best friends in the world and Monsieur de Morcerf even wanted to take him to the House so that he could listen to his speech."

The countess said nothing; she was absorbed in such a profound reverie that her eyes gradually closed. The young man, standing in front of her, watched with that filial love that is more tender and affectionate in children whose mothers are still young and beautiful. Then, after seeing her eyes close, he listened for a moment to her breathing, sweetly still, and then, thinking her asleep, tiptoed away, cautiously opening the door of the room where he left her.

He went down to his stables, harbouring a secret feeling of pique at the fact that, without thinking, the Count of Monte Cristo had obtained a team of horses that would outshine his bays in the eyes of any connoisseur.

"Men," he said, "are most certainly not equal. I must get my father to expound this theory in the Upper House."