# The Count of Monte-Cristo/Volume 4/Chapter 76

Contents
CHAPTER LXXVI
PROGRESS OF CAVALCANTI THE YOUNGER
EANWHILE Cavalcanti the elder had returned to his service, not in the army of his majesty the Emperor of Austria, but at the gaming-table of the baths of Lucca, of which he was one of the most assiduous courtiers. It need not be said that he had carried with him every farthing that had been allowed for his journey and as a reward for the majestic and solemn manner in which he had maintained his character of father.
Andrea at his departure inherited all the papers which proved that he had indeed the honor of being the son of the Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and the Marchioness Oliva Corsinari. He was now fairly launched in that Parisian society which gives such ready access to foreigners, and treats them, not as what they really are, but as what they wish to be considered. Besides, what is required of a young man in Paris?―to speak its language tolerably, to make a good appearance, to be a good card-player, and pay in cash. They are certainly less particular with a foreigner than with a Frenchman. Andrea had, then, in a fortnight, attained a very fair position. He was entitled M. le Comte; he was said to possess fifty thousand livres per annum; and his father's immense riches, buried in the quarries of Saravezza, were a constant theme. A learned man, before whom the last circumstance was mentioned as a fact, declared he had seen the quarries in question, which gave great weight to assertions hitherto somewhat doubtful, but which now assumed the garb of reality.
Such was the state of society in Paris at the period we bring before our readers, when Monte-Cristo went one evening to pay Danglars a visit. Danglars was out, but the count was asked to go and see the baroness, and he accepted the invitation. It was never without a nervous shudder, since the dinner at Auteuil and the events which followed it, that Madame Danglars heard Monte-Cristo's name announced.
​If he did not come, the painful sensation became most intense; if, on the contrary, he appeared, his noble countenance, his brilliant eyes, his amiability, his polite attention even toward Madame Danglars, soon dispelled every impression of fear. It appeared impossible to the baroness
that a man of such delightfully pleasing manners should entertain evil designs against her; besides, the most corrupt minds only suspect evil when it would answer some interested end―unless injury is repugnant to every mind.
When Monte-Cristo entered the boudoir, to which we have already ​once introduced our readers, and where the baroness was examining some drawings, which her daughter passed to her after having looked at them with Cavalcanti, his presence soon produced its usual effect; and it was with smiles that the baroness received the count, although she had been a little disconcerted at the announcement of his name. The latter embraced the whole scene at a glance.
The baroness was partially reclining on a causeuse, Eugénie sat near her, and Cavalcanti was standing. Cavalcanti, dressed in black, like one of Goethe's heroes, with japanned shoes and open white silk stockings, passed a white and tolerably nice-looking hand through his light hair, in the midst of which sparkled a diamond, which, in spite of Monte-Cristo's advice, the vain young man had been unable to resist putting on his little finger. This movement was accompanied by killing glances at Mademoiselle Danglars, and sighs addressed to the same party.
Mademoiselle Danglars was still the same—cold, beautiful, and satirical. Not one of these glances, nor one sigh, was lost on her; they might have been said to fall on the shield of Minerva, which some philosophers assert protected sometimes the breast of Sappho. Eugénie bowed coldly to the count, and availed herself of the first moment when the conversation became earnest to escape to her study, whence very soon two cheerful and laughing voices being heard, in connection with the first notes of the piano, assured Monte-Cristo that Mademoiselle Danglars preferred to his society and to that of Cavalcanti the company of Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, her singing governess.
It was then, especially while conversing with Madame Danglars, and apparently absorbed by the charm of the conversation, the count remarked M. Andrea Cavalcanti's solicitude, his manner of listening to the music at the door he dared not pass, and of manifesting his admiration.
The banker soon returned. His first look was certainly directed toward Monte-Cristo, but the second was for Andrea. As for his wife, he bowed to her in the way in which some husbands do to their wives, but which bachelors will never comprehend, until a very extensive code is published on conjugal life.
"Have not the ladies invited you to join them at the piano?" said Danglars to Andrea.
"Alas! no, sir," replied Andrea, with a sigh, still more remarkable than the former ones, Danglars immediately advanced toward the door and opened it.
The two young ladies were seen seated on the same chair, at the piano, accompanying themselves, each with one hand, a fancy to which they had accustomed themselves, and performed admirably. ​Mademoiselle d'Armilly, whom they then perceived through the open door-way, formed with Eugénie one of those living pictures of which the Germans are so fond. She was of a sufficiently remarkable style of beauty, or rather of exquisite gracefulness—a little pale fairy-like figure, with
large fair curls falling on her neck, which was rather too long, as Perugino sometimes makes those of his Virgins, and her eyes dull from fatigue. She was said to have a weak chest, and like Antonia of the "Violon de Crémone," she would die one day while singing.
​Monte-Cristo cast one rapid and curious glance round this sanctum; it was the first time he had ever seen Mademoiselle d'Armilly, of whom he had heard much.
"Well!" said the banker to his daughter, "are we then all to be excluded?"
He then led the young man into the study, and, either by chance or manœuvre, the door was partially closed after Andrea, so that from the place where they sat neither the count nor the baroness could see anything; but as the banker had accompanied Andrea, Madame Danglars appeared to take no notice of it.
The count soon heard Andrea's voice, singing a Corsican song, accompanied by the piano. While the count smiled at hearing this song, which made him lose sight of Andrea in the recollection of Benedetto, Madame Danglars was boasting to Monte-Cristo of her husband's strength of mind, who that very morning had lost three or four hundred thousand francs by a failure at Milan. The praise was well deserved, for had not the count heard it from the baroness, or by one of those means by which he knew everything, the baron's countenance would not have led him to suspect it.
"Hem!" thought Monte-Cristo, "he begins to conceal his losses; a month since he boasted of them."
Then aloud,―"Oh! madame, M. Danglars is so skillful, he will soon regain at the Bourse what he loses elsewhere."
"I see you are maintaining an erroneous idea, as well as many more," said Madame Danglars.
"What is it?" said Monte-Cristo.
"That M. Danglars speculates, whereas he never does so."
"Truly, madame, I recollect M. Debray told me——apropos, what has become of him? I have seen nothing of him the last three or four days."
"Nor I," said Madame Danglars; "but you began a sentence, sir, and did not finish."
"Which?"
"M. Debray had told you——"
"Truly, he told me it was you who sacrificed to the demon of speculation."
"I was once very fond of it, but I am not so now."
"Then you are wrong, madame. Fortune is precarious; and if I were a woman, and fate had made me a banker's wife, whatever might be my confidence in my husband's good fortune, still, in speculation, you know, there is great risk. Well! I would secure for myself a fortune independent of him, even if I acquired it by placing my interest in hands unknown to him." Madame Danglars blushed, in spite of all her efforts.
​"Stay," said Monte-Cristo, as though he had not observed her confusion, "I have heard of a lucky hit that was made yesterday on the Neapolitan bonds."
"I have none―nor have I ever possessed any; but really we have talked long enough of money, count; we are like two stockbrokers; have you heard how fate is persecuting the poor Villeforts?"
"What has happened?" said the count, apparently ignorant of all.
"You know the Marquis de Saint-Méran died a few days after he had set out on his journey to Paris, and the marchioness a few days after her arrival?"
"Yes," said Monte-Cristo, "I have heard that; but, as Claudius said to Hamlet, 'it is a law of nature; their fathers died before them, and they mourned their loss; they will die before their children, who will, in their turn, grieve for them.'"
"But that is not all."
"Not all!"
"No; they were going to marry their daughter——"
"To M. Franz d'Epinay. Is it broken off?"
"Yesterday morning, it appears, Franz declined."
"Indeed! And is the reason known?"
"No."
"How extraordinary! And how does M. de Villefort bear it?"
"As usual. Like a philosopher."
Danglars returned at this moment alone.
"Well!" said the baroness, "do you leave M. Cavalcanti with your daughter?"
"And Mademoiselle d'Armilly," said the banker; "do you consider her no one?" Then, turning to Monte-Cristo, he said, "Prince Cavalcanti is a charming young man, is he not? But is he really a prince?"
"I will not answer for it," said Monte-Cristo. "His father was introduced to me as a marquis, so he ought to be a count; but I do not think he has much claim to that title."
"Why?" said the banker. "If he is a prince, he is wrong not to maintain his rank; I do not like any one to deny his origin."
"Oh! you are a pure democrat," said Monte-Cristo, smiling.
"But do you see to what you are exposing yourself? If, perchance, M. de Morcerf came, he would find M. Cavalcanti in that room, where he, the betrothed of Eugénie, has never been admitted."
"You may well say perchance," replied the banker; "for he comes so seldom, it would seem only chance that brings him."
"But should he come, and find that young man with your daughter, he might be displeased."
​"He! you are mistaken; M. Albert would not do us the honor to be jealous; he does not like Eugénie sufficiently. Besides, I care not for his displeasure."
"Still, situated as we are——"
"Yes, do you know how we are situated? At his mother's ball he danced once with Eugénie, and M. Cavalcanti three times, and he took no notice of it."
The valet announced M. le Vicomte Albert de Morcerf. The baroness rose hastily, and was going into the study, when Danglars stopped her.
"Stay!" said he.
She looked at him in amazement. Monte-Cristo appeared to be unconscious of what passed.
Albert entered, looking very handsome and in high spirits. He bowed politely to the baroness, familiarly to Danglars, and affectionately to Monte-Cristo. Then turning to the baroness, "May I ask how Mademoiselle Danglars is?" said he.
"She is quite well," replied Danglars, quickly; "she is at the piano with M. Cavalcanti."
Albert preserved his calm and indifferent manner; he might feel perhaps annoyed, but he knew Monte-Cristo's eye was on him. "M. Cavalcanti has a fine tenor voice," said he, "and Mademoiselle Eugénie a splendid soprano; and then she plays on the piano like Thalberg. The concert must be a delightful one."
"They suit each other remarkably well," said Danglars.
Albert appeared not to notice this remark, which was, however, so rude that Madame Danglars blushed.
"I, too," said the young man, "am a musician―at least, my masters used to tell me so; but it is strange that my voice never would suit any other, and a soprano less than any."
Danglars smiled, and seemed to say, It is of no consequence. Then, hoping, doubtless, to effect his purpose, he said:
"The prince and my daughter were universally admired yesterday. You were not of the party, M. de Morcerf?"
"What prince?" asked Albert.
"Prince Cavalcanti," said Danglars, who persisted in giving the young man that title.
"Pardon me," said Albert, "I was not aware he was a prince. And Prince Cavalcanti sang with Mademoiselle Eugénie yesterday? It must have been charming, indeed. I regret not having heard them. But I was unable to accept your invitation, having promised to accompany my mother to a German concert given by the Countess of Château-Renaud."
​Then after a rather awkward silence. "May I also be allowed," said de Morcerf, "to pay my respects to Mademoiselle Danglars?"
"Wait a moment," said the banker, stopping the young man; "do you hear that delightful cavatina? Ta, ta, ta, ti, ta, ti, ta; it is charming,
let them finish—one moment. Bravo! bravi! brava!" The banker was enthusiastic in his applause.
"Indeed," said Albert, "it is exquisite; it is impossible to understand the music of his country better than Prince Cavalcanti does. You said prince, did you not? But he can easily become one, if he is not already; it is no uncommon thing in Italy. But to return to the charming ​musicians―you should give us a treat, Danglars, without telling them there is a stranger. Ask them to sing one more song; it is so delightful to hear music in the distance, when the musicians are unrestrained by observation."
Danglars was quite annoyed by the young man's indifference. He took Monte-Cristo aside.
"What do you think of our lover?" said he.
"He appears cool! But, then, your word is given."
"Yes, doubtless, I have promised to give my daughter to a man who loves her, but not to one who does not. Even if Albert had Cavalcanti's fortune, he is so proud, I would not care to see him marry her."
"Oh!" said Monte-Cristo, "my fondness may blind me, but, I assure you, I consider Morcerf far preferable; and his father's position is good."
"Hem!" said Danglars.
"Why do you doubt?"
"The past―that obscurity on the past."
"But that does not affect the son. A month since you thought well of him; you will understand, I am in despair; I know nothing of young Cavalcanti, although you met at my house!"
"But I do."
"Have you made inquiry?"
"Yes; and I know him to be rich."
"What do you suppose him worth?"
"Fifty thousand per annum; and he is well educated."
"Hem?" said Monte-Cristo in his turn.
"He is a musician."
"So are all Italians."
"Come, count, you do not do that young man justice."
"Well, I acknowledge it annoys me, knowing your connection with the Morcerf family, to see him throw himself in the way." Danglars burst out laughing.
"What a Puritan you are!" said he; "that happens every day."
"But you cannot break it off thus; the Morcerfs are depending on this union."
"Indeed?"
"Positively."
"Then let them explain themselves; you should give the father hint, you are so intimate with the family."
"I?―where the devil did you find out that?"
"At their ball; it was apparent enough. Why, did not the countess, the proud Mercedes, the disdainful Catalan, who will scarcely open her lips to her oldest acquaintances, take your arm, lead you into the garden into the private walks, and remain there for half an hour?"
​"Baron, baron," cried Albert, "why do you not listen; for a man of your musical taste, what barbarism!"
"All right, all right, joke away," replied Danglars; then turning to Monte-Cristo,―
"But will you undertake to speak to the father?"
"Willingly, if you wish it."
"But let it be done explicitly and positively. If he demands my daughter, let him fix the day―declare his conditions: in short, let us either understand each other, or quarrel. You understand―no more delay."
"Yes, sir, I will give my attention to the subject."
"I do not say I do it with pleasure, but I do expect him to speak out. A banker must, you know, be a slave to his promise." And Danglars sighed as Cavalcanti had done half an hour before.
"Bravo!" cried Morcerf, as the scene closed. Danglars began to look suspiciously at Morcerf, when some one came and whispered a few words to him.
"I shall soon return," said the banker to Monte-Cristo; "wait for me. I shall, perhaps, have something to say to you."
The baroness took advantage of her husband's absence to push open the door of her daughter's study, and Andrea, who was sitting before the piano with Mademoiselle Eugénie, started up like a spring. Albert bowed to Mademoiselle Danglars with a smile, who, not appearing in the least disturbed, returned his bow with her usual coldness. Cavalcanti was evidently embarrassed; he bowed to Morcerf, who replied with the most impertinent look possible. Then Albert launched out in praise of Mademoiselle Danglars' voice, and on his regret that after what he had just heard, he had been unable to be present the previous evening. Cavalcanti being left alone, turned to Monte-Cristo.
"Come," said Madame Danglars, "leave music and compliments, and let us go and take tea."
"Come, Louise," said Mademoiselle Danglars to her friend.
They passed into the next drawing-room, where tea was prepared. Just as they were beginning, in the English fashion, to leave the spoons in their cups, the door again opened, and Danglars entered, visibly agitated. Monte-Cristo observed it particularly, and by a look asked the banker for an explanation.
"I have just received my courier from Greece," said Danglars.
"Ah! ah!" said the count; "that was the reason of your running away from us."
"Yes."
"How is King Otho?" asked Albert, in the most sprightly tone.
Danglars cast another suspicious look toward him without answering, ​and Monte-Cristo turned away to conceal the expression of pity which passed over his features, but which was gone in a moment.
"We shall go together, shall we not?" said Albert to the count.
"If you like," replied the latter.
Albert could not understand the banker's look, and turning to Monte-Cristo, who understood it perfectly,―"Did you see," said he, "how he looked at me?"
"Yes," said the count; "but did you think there was anything particular in his look?"
"Indeed, I did; and what does he mean by his news from Greece?"
"How can I tell you?"
"Because I imagine you have correspondents in that country."
Monte-Cristo smiled significantly.
"Stop," said Albert, "here he comes. I shall compliment Mademoiselle Danglars on her cameo, while the father talks to you."
"If you compliment her at all, let it be on her voice, at least," said Monte-Cristo.
"No, every one would do that."
"My dear viscount, you are dreadfully impertinent."
Albert advanced toward Eugénie, smiling.
Meanwhile, Danglars, stooping to Monte-Cristo's ear,―"Your advice was excellent," said he; "there is a whole history connected with the names Fernand and Janina."
"Indeed!" said Monte-Cristo.
"Yes, I will tell you all; but take away the young man; I cannot endure his presence."
"He is going with me. Shall I send the father to you?"
"Immediately."
"Very well."
The count made a sign to Albert; they bowed to the ladies, and took their leave,―Albert perfectly indifferent to Mademoiselle Danglars's contempt, Monte-Cristo reiterating his advice to Madame Danglars on the prudence a banker's wife should exercise in providing for the future.
Cavalcanti remained master of the field.