Chapter 70. The Ball
On Saturday evening, beneath a star-jeweled sky, the Morcerf ball began. The garden blazed with colored lanterns; supper was laid under a tent on the lawn. Madame Danglars had hesitated to attend, but that morning her carriage met Villefort’s, who told her significantly she must be seen. She came.
When Monte Cristo arrived, every eye turned. Albert received him warmly and led him to his mother. Mercédès, watching from a flower-decked mantelpiece, observed the count refusing everything. The heat grew oppressive; she ordered the Venetian blinds thrown open, and the company poured out.
Danglars pressed the count’s arm: the Frankfurt bankers Franck and Poulmann had failed, taking 200,000 francs of his. “But I withdrew mine a month ago,” said the count; Danglars groaned. Then Mercédès came, took the count’s arm, and led him down the camellia-lined steps into the garden. Twenty guests rushed out behind them.
Chapter 71. Bread and Salt
Madame de Morcerf led the count to a small conservatory. She gathered Muscatel grapes and offered them; the count stepped back—he never ate Muscatel. She let them fall, then plucked a peach; again he refused. “Really, you pain me.” A long silence followed.
She spoke of the Arabian custom binding those who had shared bread and salt as eternal friends. “I know it, madame, but we are in France, where such friendships are rare.” Her breath came short. “But we are friends, are we not?” she pressed. The count went pale, then flushed. “Certainly. Why should we not be?”—so cold she turned away with a sob.
They walked in silence. She asked if he had suffered—he had. Whether happy—as happy as he had been wretched. Whether married—he shuddered: the young woman at the Opera was a slave he had bought in Constantinople, a daughter in all but blood. He lived alone. He had loved a girl once, in Malta, before war carried him away; on return she had married another. He had forgiven her—only her.
She pressed the grapes once more; he refused. “Inflexible man,” she whispered.
Albert came running: Villefort had come to fetch his wife and daughter—Madame de Saint-Méran had arrived from Marseilles with word that M. de Saint-Méran had died on the first stage out. Valentine had fallen senseless; the marriage with Franz must be delayed. Madame de Morcerf joined her son’s hands with the count’s. “We are friends; are we not?” “I am your most respectful servant,” he replied. She raised her handkerchief to her eyes and departed. Morrel, who had exchanged one silent look with Valentine, slipped out.
Chapter 72. Madame de Saint-Méran
At the Villefort house, after the ladies had gone to the ball, the procureur shut himself in his study but could not work. He opened a secret drawer listing his enemies—political, financial, judicial, romantic. None could have waited so patiently. The Corsican must have told it to a priest, who told it to Monte Cristo—but why?
A carriage rattled in. An old lady ascended, white hair from a yellow forehead, eyes swollen: Madame de Saint-Méran. M. de Saint-Méran had fallen asleep six leagues from Marseilles and never woken; the Aix doctor called it apoplexy. She had him put in a leaden coffin and preceded the body. She wished to see Valentine.
Villefort sent for his wife and daughter. The marchioness demanded the marriage be hastened: she had but a short time to live. Valentine objected that decorum forbade it so soon. The marchioness would hear nothing—she had been married at her own mother’s deathbed and wished to read Franz’s intentions in his eyes, and bless the union while she could.
She spoke of what she had seen the previous night: a white figure entering her room, a glass moved on the table. Her husband’s soul had come to summon her. Valentine fetched M. d’Avrigny, who questioned her about her grandmother’s symptoms—nervous excitement, agitated sleep, visions of specters. A notary had arrived for the documents; the marchioness was determined to see her granddaughter’s fortune secured before she died. As Valentine left her grandmother’s bedside, she heard her name spoken in the dark avenue and recognized Maximilian’s voice.
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