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The baroness had watched Debray while he read this long and painful letter, and saw him, notwithstanding his self-control, change color once or twice. When he had ended the perusal, he folded the letter and resumed his pensive attitude. "Well?" asked Madame Danglars, with an anxiety easy to be understood. "Well, madame?" unhesitatingly repeated Debray.
"Then your count entertains visitors, does he?" asked Madame Danglars. "Indeed he does, and in a most lavish manner, I can assure you." "I must try and persuade M. Danglars to invite him to a ball or dinner, or something of the sort, that he may be compelled to ask us in return." "What," said Debray, laughing; "do you really mean you would go to his house?"
"They are certain, then!" soliloquized M. Dantès, as Debray quitted the salon. "I was sure I should know all before he left." Then, rejoining Mercédès, who was patiently awaiting him, they stepped into their carriage, as the drowsy tones of the watchman rose on the misty air, "Past four o'clock, and all is well!"
Madame Danglars rose suddenly. "And then," said Monte Cristo, "this is not all." "What is there more?" said Debray, who had not failed to notice the agitation of Madame Danglars. "Ah, what else is there?" said Danglars; "for, at present, I cannot say that I have seen anything extraordinary. What do you say, M. Cavalcanti?"
Madame Danglars was chatting at a short distance with Debray, Beauchamp, and Chateau-Renaud. Debray was admitted to the house for this grand ceremony, but on the same plane with every one else, and without any particular privilege.
When Green heard the sound of Churchill's musketry he launched Bee with Debray's and Buchel's regiments in an impetuous charge against the left of Shaw's line; but this wild swoop was quickly stopped by the muskets of the 14th Iowa and the 24th Missouri at close range. Many saddles were emptied; Bee, Buchel, and Debray were among the victims, and in great disorder the beaten remnants fled.
As for M. Dantès, he threw himself carelessly in the way of the Ministerial Secretary to whom he had alluded, who was no other than our friend Lucien Debray, and saluted him with most marked and winning courtesy. "Will the Ministerial Secretary suffer me to compliment him upon his indefatigable industry and exertions to-night to fortify order in Paris and sustain the administration?"
An unexpected occurrence forces me to ask my wife to have a little conversation with me; it is so rarely I make such a request, I am sure you cannot grudge it to me." Debray muttered something, bowed and went out, knocking himself against the edge of the door, like Nathan in "Athalie."
"But that ought to be visible." "That is what deceives you, Debray." "I do not understand you." "Have you read the 'Arabian Nights'?" "What a question!" "Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or poor, if their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds? They seem like poor fishermen, and suddenly they open some mysterious cavern filled with the wealth of the Indies."
"At least that of the minister." "Why so!" "To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw such an infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a young lady of fashion." Debray smiled. "Well," said he, "let her come, with your consent and that of the baron, and we will try and give her an engagement, though we are very poor to pay such talent as hers."
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