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It goes without saying that still more indulgence is shown to foreigners than to Parisians.

On his departure, M. Andrea had inherited all the papers affirming that he had the honour to be the son of the Marquis Bartolomeo and the Marchioness Leonora Corsinari. He was thus more or less established in Parisian society, which is so open to receiving strangers and treating them, not as what they are, but as what they wish to be. In any case, what is required of a young man in Paris? To speak the language, more or less; to be acceptably turned out; to be a good sport; and to pay cash.

During this time, M. Cavalcanti the elder had left to resume his post, not in the army of His Majesty the Emperor of Austria, but at the roulette tables of Bagni di Lucca, where he was one of the most loyal courtiers. It goes without saying that he had taken with him the amount allocated for his journey -- and as a reward for the solemn and dignified way in which he had played his role of father -- scrupulously counted down to the last paul.

This was the state of things in that portion of Parisian society to which we have introduced our readers when, one evening, Monte Cristo went to visit M. Danglars. Danglars himself was out, but the count was invited to visit the baroness, who was at liberty to receive guests, and he accepted.

As a consequence, within a fortnight Andrea had acquired a reasonably good standing. He was addressed as "Monsieur le Comte", it was said that he had an income of 50,000 livres and there were rumours of an immense fortune belonging to his noble father, which was allegedly buried in the quarry at Saravezza. This last detail was stated as a fact in the presence of a scientist, who announced that he had seen that very quarry; this added a great deal of weight to statements that had, until then, been dubious and insubstantial, but henceforth took on the solidity of fact.

Since the dinner at Auteuil and the subsequent events, Mme Danglars could not hear Monte Cristo's name without a sort of nervous twitch. If the mention of his name was not followed by the count's physical presence, this painful sensation intensified. On the other hand, if the count appeared, his open features, his shining eyes, his friendliness and his gallantry towards Mme Danglars very rapidly dispelled all traces of anxiety. It seemed to the baroness impossible that a man so charming in appearance could have any evil designs against her. In any case, even the most corrupt of us finds it hard to believe in evil unless it is based on some interest. We reject the idea of harm done for no cause and without gain as anomalous.

He took in the whole scene at a glance. Beside the baroness, Eugénie was sitting, almost recumbent, on a sofa, with Cavalcanti standing. He was dressed in black like a hero from Goethe, with highly polished shoes and white silk stockings, running a white, well-manicured hand through his blond hair in the midst of which could be seen the flicker of a diamond: despite Monte Cristo's advice, the vain young man had not been able to resist slipping this stone on to his little finger. The hand movement was accompanied by provocative glances at Mlle Danglars and sighs dispatched in the same direction as the glances.

When Monte Cristo entered the boudoir into which we have already once introduced our readers -- and where the baroness was casting an anxious eye over drawings handed to her by her daughter after she had looked at them with the younger Cavalcanti -- the count's presence produced its usual effect and the baroness received him with a smile, though she had been somewhat troubled at the sound of his name.

Shortly afterwards, the banker himself came in. His first look was towards Monte Cristo, the second towards Andrea. As for his wife, he greeted her as certain husbands do greet their wives, a thing that bachelors will be able to imagine only when someone has done a very profound analysis of the conventions of married life.

Mlle Danglars was still the same: that is to say, beautiful, cold and contemptuous. Not a single glance or sigh from Andrea escaped her, but they appeared to be deflected by the breastplate of Minerva, which philosophers sometimes say in fact covered the breast of Sappho.

Eugénie greeted the count coldly and took advantage of the earliest opportunity in the conversation to take herself off to her study, whence two voices could shortly be heard, merry and boisterous, accompanied by the first chords on a piano, informing Monte Cristo that Mlle Danglars had just preferred the company of Mlle Louise d'Armilly, her singing instructor, to his own and that of M. Cavalcanti.

Most of all, even as he was talking to Mme Danglars and appeared entirely absorbed in the conversation, the count noticed M. Andrea Cavalcanti: his anxiety, his way of going over to the door to listen to the music (without daring to go through it), his way of expressing his admiration.

Danglars at once went across to the door between the two rooms and opened it, to reveal the two young women sitting on the same piano seat in front of the same piano. Each was playing the part for one hand, an exercise that they had practised to amuse themselves and at which they had become remarkably proficient.

Framed in this way by the door, Mlle d'Armilly could now be seen with Eugénie forming one of those tableaux vivants which are often exhibited in Germany. She was of quite exceptional beauty -- or, rather, of exquisite sweetness. She was a small woman, as slender and blonde as a fairy, with eyes heavy with tiredness and long hair falling in ringlets across an excessively long neck, of the sort that Perugino sometimes gives to his virgins. It was said that she had a weak chest and that, like Antonia in the Violon de Crémone, she would one day die singing.

"Alas, no, Monsieur," Andrea replied, with an even more perceptible sigh than the earlier ones.

"Haven't these young ladies invited you to make music with them?" Danglars asked Andrea.

"Well, then?" the banker said to his daughter. "Are you trying to keep us out?" And he led the young man into the small drawing-room. Whether by chance or intentionally, the door was pushed to behind Andrea so that, from where they were sitting, neither Monte Cristo nor the baroness could see anything. But, as the banker had followed Andrea, Mme Danglars did not appear to notice this fact.

Shortly afterwards the count heard Andrea's voice harmonizing with the sound of the piano which accompanied a Corsican song. As he listened to this with a smile -- forgetting Andrea and recalling Benedetto -- Mme Danglars was boasting to Monte Cristo of her husband's strength of character, since that very morning he had again lost three or four hundred thousand francs in a Milanese bankruptcy. Indeed, the praise was well merited: if the count had not known of it through the baroness, or perhaps through one of those means he had of knowing everything, the baron's face would have told him nothing.

Monte Cristo took in this female group in a single, rapid, searching glance. It was the first time he had seen Mlle d'Armilly, though he had often heard her mentioned in this house.

"That's right: Monsieur Debray told me that you were the one who is addicted to gambling on the Exchange."

"Nor have I," said Mme Danglars, with astonishing self-control. "But you began to say something…"

"What was that?"

"Then you are wrong, Madame. Heavens! Chance is so uncertain a thing that, if I were a woman and fate had made me the wife of a banker, however much faith I had in my husband's good luck -- because, as you know, everything in speculation depends on good or bad luck -- however much, I say, I were to trust in my husband's good luck, I should make certain of acquiring some independent means, even if to do so I had to entrust my interests to a stranger."

"What is that?" asked Monte Cristo.

"That Monsieur Danglars gambles on the Stock Exchange -- when in fact, on the contrary, he never does any such thing."

"I see that you share a common misconception," said Mme Danglars.

"Ah, of course not! I recall now that Monsieur Debray told me… By the way, Madame, what has become of Monsieur Debray? I have not seen him for three or four days."

"That Monsieur Debray, you said, told you…"

"I did have a taste for it, I admit," said Mme Danglars, "for a while, but no longer."

"Good!" Monte Cristo thought. "He is already at the stage where he is concealing his losses. A month ago he was boasting of them." Then, aloud, he said: "Oh, Madame! Monsieur Danglars knows the Exchange so well that he is sure to regain there what he loses elsewhere."

"But you know very well: after losing Monsieur de Saint-Méran three or four days after his departure, they have just lost the marchioness three or four days after her arrival."

Mme Danglars blushed, despite herself.

"Now, for example," said Monte Cristo, as if he had noticed nothing, "people are speaking of a splendid killing that was made yesterday on Neapolitan bonds."

"I don't have any of those," the baroness interjected, "and I never did. But that's enough of the Exchange now, Monsieur le Comte. We must sound like a couple of stockbrokers. What about the poor Villeforts, who are having such bad luck at present?"

"But that's not all."

"How do you mean, it's not all?"

"So they have. I did hear that. But, as Claudius says to Hamlet, such is the law of nature: they lost their fathers, and mourned them; they will die before their sons, who will mourn them in turn."

"What has happened to them?" Monte Cristo asked quite innocently.

"No. You know they were going to marry their daughter…"

"To Monsieur Franz d'Epinay… Has the marriage fallen through?"

"No."

"I can't guarantee it," Monte Cristo said. "His father was introduced to me as a marquis, he could be a count; but I think that he doesn't even make any great claim to the title himself."

At that moment Danglars returned, alone.

"Yesterday morning, apparently, Franz released them from their obligations."

"Philosophically, as always."

"You are a perfect democrat," Monte Cristo said with a smile.

"Why not?" said the banker. "If he is a prince, he is wrong not to boast of it. Every man has his rights. Personally, I don't like those who renounce their origins."

"Well!" said the baroness. "Have you left Monsieur Cavalcanti with your daughter?"

"Good Lord! What are you telling me, Madame? And how is Monsieur de Villefort facing up to all this misfortune?"

"Really? Does anyone know the reason for this upset?"

"What about Mademoiselle d'Armilly?" the banker said. "Doesn't she count?" Then he turned to Monte Cristo. "A charming young man, don't you think, Monsieur le Comte, this Prince Cavalcanti? The only question is: is he really a prince?"

"Viscount Albert de Morcerf!" the footman announced.

"Just consider the risk you are taking," said the baroness. "If Monsieur de Morcerf were to come here by chance, he would find Monsieur Cavalcanti in a room where he, Eugénie's fiancé, has never been permitted to enter."

"You are right to say "by chance"," said the banker, "because, in truth, we see him so rarely that one could indeed say that he comes by chance."

"He? Huh! You are mistaken. Monsieur Albert does not do us the honour of being jealous of his fiancée -- he doesn't love her enough for that. In any case, what do I care if he is displeased or not?"

"Well, no matter: if he were to come, and find this young man with your daughter, he might be displeased."

"Yes, at the stage we have reached. Shall I tell you what stage we have reached? The stage is that at his mother's ball he only danced with my daughter once, while Monsieur Cavalcanti danced with her three times, and Albert didn't even notice."

The baroness leapt to her feet. She was about to go through to the little drawing-room to warn her daughter, but Danglars put his hand on her arm. "Leave it," he said. She looked at him in astonishment.

"Even so, at the stage we have reached…"

Monte Cristo pretended not to have seen this little piece of stage business. Albert came in, very handsome and very pleased with life. He greeted the baroness in an easy manner, Danglars in a familiar one and Monte Cristo with affection. Then, turning to the baroness, he asked: "May I be permitted to enquire after the health of Mademoiselle Danglars?"

"Excellent, Monsieur," Danglars replied sharply. "At the moment she is music-making in her private study with Monsieur Cavalcanti."

Albert preserved his air of calm indifference. He may perhaps have felt some inner annoyance, but he felt Monte Cristo's eyes on him. "Monsieur Cavalcanti has a very fine tenor voice," he said, "and Mademoiselle Eugénie a superb soprano, not to mention the fact that she plays the piano like Thalberg. It must be a delightful concert."

"The fact is," Danglars said, "that they harmonize wonderfully well together."

Blatant though it was, Albert pretended not to have noticed the ambiguity in this remark, but Mme Danglars blushed.

"I am a musician myself," the young man went on; "or, at least, so my teachers say. So it's an odd thing, but I have never yet been able to make my voice harmonize with any other -- and with soprano voices least of all."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Albert. "I was not aware that he was a prince. So! Prince Cavalcanti sang with Mademoiselle Eugénie yesterday? It must have been truly delightful to hear and I am very sorry to have missed it. I could not accept your invitation; I had to accompany Madame de Morcerf to the Baroness de Château-Renaud -- the mother, that is -- where the Germans were singing." Then, after a short pause, he added, quite casually: "Might I be allowed to present my respects to Mademoiselle Danglars?"

Danglars gave a little smile that meant: but why aren't you annoyed? And, doubtless hoping to achieve his goal, he said: "Which is why the prince and my daughter were universally admired yesterday. Weren't you there yesterday, Monsieur de Morcerf?"

"Oh, wait, wait, I beg you," said the banker, putting a hand on his arm. "Can't you hear: what an exquisite cavatina? Ta, ta, ta, ti, ta, ti, ta, ta! Charming! Just a moment, and they will have finished… Perfect! Bravo! Bravi! Brava!" Danglars launched into a frenetic round of applause.

"What prince is that?" Albert asked.

"Prince Cavalcanti," Danglars said, still persisting in giving the young man this title.

"Certainly, I'm committed, to give my daughter to a man who loves her, not to one who doesn't. Just look at him: cold as marble, arrogant like his father… If only he were rich, if he had a fortune like the Cavalcantis, then one might overlook it. As yet I have not spoken to my daughter, but if she has any taste…"

This time, the young man's sang-froid left even Danglars speechless. He drew Monte Cristo aside. "Well, I never. What do you think of our lover?" he asked him.

"I have to admit, he does seem a trifle cold. But what can you do? You're committed."

"Truly delightful," said Albert. "No one could understand the music of his country better than Prince Cavalcanti. You did say "prince", didn't you? In any case, even if he isn't a prince, he can be made one: it's easy in Italy. But to come back to our delightful songsters -- you should do something for us, Monsieur Danglars: without telling them that there is a stranger here, you should ask Mademoiselle Danglars and Monsieur Cavalcanti to begin another piece. It is such an exquisite pleasure to enjoy music from a distance, in the shadows, without seeing or being seen, and so without embarrassing the musician, who can thus abandon himself or herself to all the impulses of genius and the transports of the heart."

"But the father's past does not affect the son."

"He is well educated."

"Do I need to? Can't you tell what kind of a man he is just by looking at him? To start with, he's rich."

"Why these reservations?"

"For fifty thousand livres; a mere trifle."

"No, no, indeed!"

"Oh, come!" said Monte Cristo. "I may be blinded by my friendship for him, but I assure you that Monsieur de Morcerf is a delightful young man, who will make your daughter happy and eventually make something of himself. After all, his father moves in the highest circles."

"Hum!" Danglars said.

"You know him? Have you made enquiries into his background?" asked Monte Cristo.

"Come now, don't be carried away. A month ago you thought it was a splendid match. You understand, I'm deeply mortified: it was at my house that you met young Cavalcanti -- and, as I told you, I do not know him."

"But you're standing surety for him, even so?"

"I can't swear to it."

"There is still his past… shrouded in obscurity…"

"I do," said Danglars. "That's all I need."

"Well, no, I confess I am sorry to see that, knowing your arrangement with the Morcerfs, he should interfere with it in this way and take advantage of his wealth."

"Their ball, I think. I mean to say: the countess, the proud Mercédès, the haughty Catalan, who barely deigns to open her mouth to her oldest acquaintances, took your arm and went out into the garden with you, led you off to the far corner and only reappeared half an hour later."

"Absolutely."

Danglars began to laugh. "What a Puritan you are!" he said. "It happens every day in society!"

It was Monte Cristo's turn to say: "Hum!"

"Just like all Italians."

"He's a musician."

"They're counting on it?"

"Me? What on earth made you think that?"

"Then let them explain what's going on. You should have a word about this with the father, my dear Count, since you are such a good friend of the family."

"Come now, Count, you are not fair to the young man."

"But, my dear Monsieur Danglars, you cannot just break it off like that: the Morcerfs are counting on the match."

"Oh, yes, very witty! Young Mister Sarcasm!" he said; then, turning back to Monte Cristo: "Would you be good enough to say that to the father?"

"Certainly, if you wish."

"And this time let's have it all done clearly and definitely: he can ask me for my daughter's hand, set a date, talk about the dowry… In short, let's shake hands on it or shake fists, but no more delays; you understand…"

"Please, Baron, please!" said Albert. "We can't hear a thing. What an outrage -- from a music-lover like yourself, too!"

"Very well, I'll talk to him for you."

"Bravi! Bravo! Brava!" Morcerf yelled, applauding the end of the piece, in parody of the banker.

"I'll be back shortly," he said to Monte Cristo. "Wait for me: I may have something to tell you before you leave." And he went out.

"I'm not saying that I await the outcome with pleasure, but I shall expect to hear from him. As you know, a banker is bound by his word." And he gave one of those sighs that had been heard from the younger Cavalcanti half an hour earlier.

Danglars was starting to bristle at this when a footman came and whispered in his ear.

Cavalcanti, on the other hand, did show signs of evident embarrassment. He greeted Morcerf, who returned the greeting with a look of the utmost impertinence, then started to pour out a torrent of praise for Mlle Danglars' voice, saying how much he regretted not having been able to attend the previous evening's soirée, having heard an account of it…

"Now then," said Mme Danglars, "that's enough music and compliments. Let's take a cup of tea."

"Come on, Louise," Mlle Danglars said to her friend, and they all went into the drawing-room next door, where tea was indeed waiting. Just as they were beginning, in the English manner, to leave their spoons in their cups, the door opened and Danglars reappeared, evidently very upset. Monte Cristo particularly noticed it and gave the banker an enquiring look. "I have just received my dispatches from Greece," he said.

The baroness took advantage of her husband's absence to throw open the door to her daughter's study and they saw M. Andrea, who had been seated at the piano with Mlle Eugénie, leap to his feet as if powered by a spring. Albert smiled and bowed to Mlle Danglars, who did not appear in the slightest embarrassed but returned her usual cold curtsey.

Cavalcanti, left to himself, took Monte Cristo aside.

Danglars looked askance at him without replying, and Monte Cristo turned away to hide a look of pity that had appeared on his face, and which almost immediately vanished.

"And how is King Otto keeping?" Albert asked, in his jolliest tone of voice.

"Yes, if you wish," he replied.

"Because I assume you have spies in the country."

Albert could not understand anything in the expression on the banker's face; so, turning to Monte Cristo, who understood perfectly well, he said: "Did you see how he looked at me?"

"Yes," said the count. "Did you find something odd in this look?"

"How should I know?"

"We shall leave together, shan't we?" Albert asked the count.

"Look, he's just coming over to you," said Albert. "I'm going to compliment Mademoiselle Danglars on the cameo she is wearing. Meanwhile the father will have time to tell you all about it."

"Oh?" said the count. "Is that why you were called away?"

"Yes."

"I certainly did. But what is all this about news from Greece?"

Monte Cristo smiled, as one does when one has no intention of replying.

Meanwhile Danglars bent over the count's ear. "You gave me excellent advice," he said, "and there is a frightful story behind those two words: Fernand and Janina."

"More than ever."

M. Cavalcanti remained master of the field.

"Not at all: anyone could do that."

"No, really?" said Monte Cristo.

Albert crossed over to Eugénie with a smile on his lips.

"Yes, I'll tell you about it. But take the young man away. For the moment I should be too embarrassed to stay in the room with him."

"Very well." The count signalled to Albert, both of them said goodbye to the ladies and left -- Albert treating Mlle Danglars' scorn with utter indifference, Monte Cristo repeating to Mme Danglars his advice on the wisdom for a banker's wife of ensuring her future.

"My dear Viscount, you have the conceit of impertinence," Monte Cristo said.

"If you do compliment her, let it be for her voice, at least," said Monte Cristo.

"That's just what I'm going to do; he's coming with me. And do you still want me to send the father to you?"