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"I am much obliged by your kind intentions towards me," said Monte Cristo; "but this morning I purchased a very excellent pair of carriage-horses, and I do not think they were dear. There they are. Come, M. Debray, you are a connoisseur, I believe, let me have your opinion upon them." As Debray walked towards the window, Danglars approached his wife.
"I have not the honor of knowing Madame Danglars; but I have already met M. Lucien Debray." "Ah, indeed?" said Danglars; "and where was that?" "At the house of M. de Morcerf." "Ah, ha, you are acquainted with the young viscount, are you?" "We were together a good deal during the Carnival at Rome." "True, true," cried Danglars.
And whom think you, among crowds of others, I encountered there? You would never guess, and I haven't time for you to try. Lucien Debray, and with him but that's impossible for you to divine she who was Madame Danglars, wife of the rich banker years ago. Well, the banker is dead and she is immensely rich, and I suppose Lucien's spouse into the bargain." "And where go they?"
"Ma foi!" said Chateau-Renaud, "I would rather end my career like M. de Morcerf; a pistol-shot seems quite delightful compared with this catastrophe." "And moreover, it kills," said Beauchamp. "And to think that I had an idea of marrying his daughter," said Debray. "She did well to die, poor girl!"
Five minutes after the new telegram reached the minister, Debray had the horses put to his carriage, and drove to Danglars' house. "Has your husband any Spanish bonds?" he asked of the baroness. "I think so, indeed! He has six millions' worth." "He must sell them at whatever price." "Why?" "Because Don Carlos has fled from Bourges, and has returned to Spain." "How do you know?"
I hate this life of the fashionable world, always ordered, measured, ruled, like our music-paper. What I have always wished for, desired, and coveted, is the life of an artist, free and independent, relying only on my own resources, and accountable only to myself. Remain here? What for? that they may try, a month hence, to marry me again; and to whom? M. Debray, perhaps, as it was once proposed.
"I? Certainly not," replied the count. "No; I should only regret if the horse had not proved good." "It is so good, that I have distanced M. de Chateau-Renaud, one of the best riders in France, and M. Debray, who both mount the minister's Arabians; and close on their heels are the horses of Madame Danglars, who always go at six leagues an hour." "Then they follow you?" asked Monte Cristo.
Why, to accuse the man, do you address the woman?" "Do I know M. Debray? do I wish to know him? do I wish to know that he gives advice? do I wish to follow it? do I speculate? No; you do all this, not I." "Still it seems to me, that as you profit by it " Danglars shrugged his shoulders. "Foolish creature," he exclaimed.
Madame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something; but when she saw the careless bow of Debray, and the glance by which it was accompanied, together with his significant silence, she raised her head, and without passion or violence or even hesitation, ran down-stairs, disdaining to address a last farewell to one who could thus part from her.
"Oh, yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved at the minister's?" said Beauchamp, placing his eye-glass in his eye, where he tried to make it remain. "My dear sir," said Chateau-Renaud, "allow me to tell you that you do not understand that manoeuvre with the eye-glass half so well as Debray. Give him a lesson, Debray." "Stay," said Beauchamp, "surely I am not deceived." "What is it?"
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