The Count of Monte Cristo

The Mysterious Race Winner

Château-Renaud remarks that the countess was present at the races in the Champ-de-Mars that day, and Albert confesses he had quite forgotten the races. Château-Renaud bet a paltry fifty louis on Nautilus and won, but the real curiosity concerns the prize given by the Jockey Club—a gold cup won by a horse and rider utterly unknown on the course. A splendid roan, entered under the name of Vampa, mounted by a jockey styled Job and no bigger than a fist, appeared at the last moment and outstripped Ariel and Barbare by at least three whole lengths, even after twenty pounds of shot had been stuffed into the small rider’s pockets to make weight. No one could discover to whom horse or jockey belonged, but Albert claims to be better informed than his friend.

Madame Danglars Arrives

The door of the minister’s box opens, and Madame Danglars, accompanied by her daughter, enters, escorted by Lucien Debray, who assiduously conducts them to their seats. Château-Renaud draws Albert’s attention to the party, asking whether he is not catching the baroness’s eye. Albert turns in time to receive a gracious wave of the fan from the baroness, while Mademoiselle Eugénie scarcely vouchsafes to waste the glances of her large black eyes even upon the business of the stage. The Danglars’ arrival is duly registered as a social event by the young men below.

Mademoiselle Eugénie Danglars

Château-Renaud cannot imagine what objection Albert can possibly have to Mademoiselle Danglars, setting aside her lack of ancestry and somewhat inferior rank, and observes that, barring all that, she is a deuced fine girl. Albert agrees she is handsome, but not to his taste, which inclines to something softer, gentler, and more feminine. Château-Renaud, having seen his thirtieth summer, assumes a paternal air and remarks that Albert’s parents have chosen him a bride built on the model of Diana the huntress, yet he is still not content. Albert retorts that this very resemblance affrights him, since he would have preferred something more in the manner of the Venus of Milo or Capua, and that the chase-loving Diana, continually surrounded by her nymphs, gives him alarm lest she should one day bring on him the fate of Actæon. A single glance at Mademoiselle Danglars confirms Morcerf’s remark: she is beautiful, but her beauty is of too marked and decided a character to please a fastidious taste. Her raven-black hair seems rebellious, her dark eyes are surmounted by well-arched brows whose defect is an almost habitual frown, and her whole physiognomy wears an expression of firmness and decision at odds with the gentler attributes of her sex. Her nose is what a sculptor would have chosen for a chiselled Juno, her too-large mouth displays pearly teeth set off by brilliant carmine against a pale complexion, and a dark mole of unusual dimensions at the corner of her mouth increases the air of self-dependence. The rest of her person is in keeping with her head, recalling Diana but with a bearing more haughty and resolute. As for her attainments, they are too erudite and masculine for so young a person: she is a perfect linguist, a first-rate artist, writes poetry, and composes music, pursuing the latter with indefatigable perseverance and the assistance of a schoolfellow, Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly, a young woman of promise as a singer. Although Louise is treated with far more kindness than a governess would receive, Mademoiselle Danglars is careful never to be seen in public with one destined for a theatrical life.