AT FIRST SIGHT the exterior¹ of the house at Auteuil gave no indications of splendor², nothing one would expect from the destined³ residence of the magnificent Count of Monte Cristo; but this simplicity⁴ was according to the will of its master, who positively⁵ ordered nothing to be altered outside. The splendor was within. Indeed, almost before the door opened, the scene changed. M. Bertuccio had outdone himself in the taste displayed in furnishing, and in the rapidity with which it was executed. It is told that the Duc d'Antin removed in a single night a whole avenue of trees that annoyed Louis XIV; in three days M. Bertuccio planted an entirely⁶ bare court with poplars, large spreading sycamores to shade the different parts of the house, and in the foreground, instead of the usual paving-stones, half hidden by the grass, there extended a lawn but that morning laid down, and upon which the water was yet glistening⁷. For the rest, the orders had been issued by the count; he himself had given a plan to Bertuccio, marking the spot where each tree was to be planted, and the shape and extent of the lawn which was to take the place of the paving-stones. Thus the house had become unrecognizable, and Bertuccio himself declared that he scarcely knew it, encircled as it was by a framework of trees. The overseer would not have objected, while he was about it, to have made some improvements in the garden, but the count had positively forbidden it to be touched. Bertuccio made amends⁸, however, by loading the ante-chambers, staircases, and mantle-pieces with flowers.

What, above all, manifested the shrewdness of the steward¹⁰, and the profound science of the master, the one in carrying out the ideas of the other, was that this house which appeared only the night before so sad and gloomy, impregnated with that sickly smell one can almost fancy to be the smell of time, had in a single day acquired the aspect of life, was scented¹¹ with its master's favorite perfumes, and had the very light regulated according to his wish. When the count arrived, he had under his touch his books and arms, his eyes rested upon his favorite pictures; his dogs, whose caresses¹² he loved, welcomed him in the ante-chamber⁹; the birds, whose songs delighted him, cheered him with their music; and the house, awakened¹³ from its long sleep, like the sleeping beauty in the wood, lived, sang, and bloomed like the houses we have long cherished, and in which, when we are forced to leave them, we leave a part of our souls. The servants passed gayly along the fine court-yard; some, belonging to the kitchens, gliding¹⁴ down the stairs, restored but the previous day, as if they had always inhabited the house; others filling the coach-houses, where the equipages, encased and numbered, appeared to have been installed for the last fifty years; and in the stables the horses replied with neighs to the grooms¹⁵, who spoke¹⁶ to them with much more respect than many servants pay their masters.

The library was divided into two parts on either side of the wall, and contained upwards¹⁷ of two thousand volumes; one division was entirely devoted¹⁸ to novels, and even the volume which had been published but the day before was to be seen in its place in all the dignity of its red and gold binding¹⁹. On the other side of the house, to match with the library, was the conservatory²⁰, ornamented²¹ with rare flowers, that bloomed in china jars; and in the midst of the greenhouse, marvellous alike to sight and smell, was a billiard-table which looked as if it had been abandoned during the past hour by players who had left the balls on the cloth. One chamber alone had been respected by the magnificent Bertuccio. Before this room, to which you could ascend²² by the grand, and go out by the back staircase, the servants passed with curiosity, and Bertuccio with terror. At five o'clock precisely²³, the count arrived before the house at Auteuil, followed by Ali. Bertuccio was awaiting this arrival with impatience²⁴, mingled²⁵ with uneasiness; he hoped for some compliments, while, at the same time, he feared to have frowns. Monte Cristo descended²⁶ into the courtyard, walked all over the house, without giving any sign of approbation²⁷ or pleasure, until he entered his bedroom, situated²⁸ on the opposite side to the closed room; then he approached a little piece of furniture, made of rosewood, which he had noticed at a previous visit. "That can only be to hold gloves," he said.

"Will your excellency deign²⁹ to open it?" said the delighted Bertuccio, "and you will find gloves in it." Elsewhere the count found everything he required--smelling-bottles, cigars, knick-knacks.

"Good," he said; and M. Bertuccio left enraptured³⁰, so great, so powerful, and real was the influence exercised by this man over all who surrounded him. At precisely six o'clock the clatter³¹ of horses' hoofs³² was heard at the entrance door; it was our captain of Spahis, who had arrived on Medeah. "I am sure I am the first," cried Morrel; "I did it on purpose to have you a minute to myself, before every one came. Julie and Emmanuel have a thousand things to tell you. Ah, really this is magnificent! But tell me, count, will your people take care of my horse?"

"Do not alarm yourself, my dear Maximilian--they understand."

"I mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a pace he came--like the wind!"

"I should think so,--a horse that cost 5,000 francs!" said Monte Cristo, in the tone which a father would use towards a son.

"Do you regret them?" asked Morrel, with his open laugh.

"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.

"See, they are here." And at the same minute a carriage with smoking horses, accompanied by two mounted gentlemen, arrived at the gate, which opened before them. The carriage drove round, and stopped at the steps, followed by the horsemen. The instant Debray had touched the ground, he was at the carriage-door. He offered his hand to the baroness³⁴, who, descending³⁵, took it with a peculiarity³⁶ of manner imperceptible to every one but Monte Cristo. But nothing escaped the count's notice, and he observed a little note, passed with the facility that indicates frequent practice, from the hand of Madame Danglars to that of the minister's secretary. After his wife the banker descended, as pale as though he had issued from his tomb instead of his carriage. Madame Danglars threw a rapid and inquiring glance which could only be interpreted by Monte Cristo, around the court-yard, over the peristyle, and across the front of the house, then, repressing a slight emotion, which must have been seen on her countenance³⁷ if she had not kept her color, she ascended³⁸ the steps, saying to Morrel, "Sir, if you were a friend of mine, I should ask you if you would sell your horse."

Morrel smiled with an expression very like a grimace³⁹, and then turned round to Monte Cristo, as if to ask him to extricate⁴⁰ him from his embarrassment⁴¹. The count understood him. "Ah, madame," he said, "why did you not make that request of me?"

"With you, sir," replied the baroness, "one can wish for nothing, one is so sure to obtain it. If it were so with M. Morrel"--

"Unfortunately," replied the count, "I am witness that M. Morrel cannot give up his horse, his honor being engaged in keeping it."

"How so?"

"He laid a wager⁴² he would tame Medeah in the space of six months. You understand now that if he were to get rid of the animal before the time named, he would not only lose his bet, but people would say he was afraid; and a brave captain of Spahis cannot risk this, even to gratify a pretty woman, which is, in my opinion, one of the most sacred obligations in the world."

"You see my position, madame," said Morrel, bestowing⁴³ a grateful smile on Monte Cristo.

"It seems to me," said Danglars, in his coarse tone, ill-concealed by a forced smile, "that you have already got horses enough." Madame Danglars seldom allowed remarks of this kind to pass unnoticed, but, to the surprise of the young people, she pretended not to hear it, and said nothing. Monte Cristo smiled at her unusual humility⁴⁴, and showed her two immense porcelain⁴⁵ jars, over which wound marine⁴⁶ plants, of a size and delicacy⁴⁷ that nature alone could produce. The baroness was astonished. "Why," said she, "you could plant one of the chestnut-trees in the Tuileries inside! How can such enormous jars have been manufactured?"

"Ah, madame," replied Monte Cristo, "you must not ask of us, the manufacturers of fine porcelain, such a question. It is the work of another age, constructed by the genii of earth and water."

"How so?--at what period can that have been?"

"I do not know; I have only heard that an emperor of China had an oven built expressly, and that in this oven twelve jars like this were successively baked. Two broke, from the heat of the fire; the other ten were sunk three hundred fathoms⁴⁸ deep into the sea. The sea, knowing what was required of her, threw over them her weeds, encircled them with coral, and encrusted them with shells; the whole was cemented by two hundred years beneath these almost impervious⁴⁹ depths, for a revolution carried away the emperor who wished to make the trial, and only left the documents proving the manufacture of the jars and their descent into the sea. At the end of two hundred years the documents were found, and they thought of bringing up the jars. Divers⁵⁰ descended in machines, made expressly on the discovery, into the bay where they were thrown; but of ten three only remained, the rest having been broken by the waves. I am fond of these jars, upon which, perhaps, misshapen, frightful⁵¹ monsters have fixed⁵² their cold, dull eyes, and in which myriads⁵³ of small fish have slept, seeking a refuge from the pursuit of their enemies." Meanwhile, Danglars, who had cared little for curiosities, was mechanically tearing off the blossoms of a splendid orange-tree, one after another. When he had finished with the orange-tree, he began at the cactus⁵⁴; but this, not being so easily plucked as the orange-tree, pricked⁵⁵ him dreadfully. He shuddered⁵⁶, and rubbed his eyes as though awaking from a dream.

"Sir," said Monte Cristo to him, "I do not recommend my pictures to you, who possess such splendid paintings; but, nevertheless, here are two by Hobbema, a Paul Potter, a Mieris, two by Gérard Douw, a Raphael, a Vandyke, a Zurbaran, and two or three by Murillo, worth looking at."

"Stay," said Debray; "I recognize this Hobbema."

"Ah, indeed!"

"Yes; it was proposed for the Museum."

"Which, I believe, does not contain one?" said Monte Cristo.

"No; and yet they refused to buy it."

"Why?" said Chateau-Renaud.

"You pretend not to know,--because government was not rich enough."

"Ah, pardon me," said Chateau-Renaud; "I have heard of these things every day during the last eight years, and I cannot understand them yet."

"You will, by and by," said Debray.

"I think not," replied Chateau-Renaud.

"Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and Count Andrea Cavalcanti," announced Baptistin. A black satin stock, fresh from the maker's hands, gray moustaches, a bold eye, a major's uniform, ornamented with three medals and five crosses--in fact, the thorough bearing of an old soldier--such was the appearance of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, that tender father with whom we are already acquainted. Close to him, dressed in entirely new clothes, advanced smilingly Count Andrea Cavalcanti, the dutiful son, whom we also know. The three young people were talking together. On the entrance of the new comers, their eyes glanced from father to son, and then, naturally enough, rested on the latter, whom they began criticising. "Cavalcanti!" said Debray. "A fine name," said Morrel.

"Yes," said Chateau-Renaud, "these Italians are well named and badly dressed."

"You are fastidious, Chateau-Renaud," replied Debray; "those clothes are well cut and quite new."

"That is just what I find fault with. That gentleman appears to be well dressed for the first time in his life."

"Who are those gentlemen?" asked Danglars of Monte Cristo.

"You heard--Cavalcanti."

"That tells me their name, and nothing else."

"Ah, true. You do not know the Italian nobility; the Cavalcanti are all descended from princes."

"Have they any fortune?"

"An enormous one."

"What do they do?"

"Try to spend it all. They have some business with you, I think, from what they told me the day before yesterday. I, indeed, invited them here to-day on your account. I will introduce you to them."

"But they appear to speak French with a very pure accent," said Danglars.

"The son has been educated in a college in the south; I believe near Marseilles. You will find him quite enthusiastic."

"Upon what subject?" asked Madame Danglars.

"The French ladies, madame. He has made up his mind to take a wife from Paris."

"A fine idea that of his," said Danglars, shrugging his shoulders. Madame Danglars looked at her husband with an expression which, at any other time, would have indicated a storm, but for the second time she controlled herself. "The baron³³ appears thoughtful to-day," said Monte Cristo to her; "are they going to put him in the ministry⁵⁷?"

"Not yet, I think. More likely he has been speculating on the Bourse, and has lost money."

"M. and Madame de Villefort," cried Baptistin. They entered. M. de Villefort, notwithstanding his self-control, was visibly affected⁵⁸, and when Monte Cristo touched his hand, he felt it tremble. "Certainly, women alone know how to dissimulate," said Monte Cristo to himself, glancing at Madame Danglars, who was smiling on the procureur, and embracing his wife. After a short time, the count saw Bertuccio, who, until then, had been occupied on the other side of the house, glide⁵⁹ into an adjoining room. He went to him. "What do you want, M. Bertuccio?" said he.

"Your excellency his not stated the number of guests."

"Ah, true."

"How many covers?"

"Count for yourself."

"Is every one here, your excellency?"

"Yes."

Bertuccio glanced through the door, which was ajar. The count watched him. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

"What is the matter?" said the count.

"That woman--that woman!"

"Which?"

"The one with a white dress and so many diamonds--the fair one."

"Madame Danglars?"

"I do not know her name; but it is she, sir, it is she!"

"Whom do you mean?"

"The woman of the garden!--she that was enciente--she who was walking while she waited for"--Bertuccio stood at the open door, with his eyes starting and his hair on end.

"Waiting for whom?" Bertuccio, without answering, pointed⁶⁰ to Villefort with something of the gesture Macbeth uses to point out Banquo. "Oh, oh," he at length muttered, "do you see?"

"What? Who?"

"Him!"

"Him!--M. de Villefort, the king's attorney? Certainly I see him."

"Then I did not kill him?"

"Really, I think you are going mad, good Bertuccio," said the count.

"Then he is not dead?"

"No; you see plainly he is not dead. Instead of striking between the sixth and seventh left ribs⁶¹, as your countrymen do, you must have struck higher or lower, and life is very tenacious⁶² in these lawyers, or rather there is no truth in anything you have told me--it was a fright of the imagination, a dream of your fancy. You went to sleep full of thoughts of vengeance⁶³; they weighed heavily upon your stomach; you had the nightmare--that's all. Come, calm yourself, and reckon them up--M. and Madame de Villefort, two; M. and Madame Danglars, four; M. de Chateau-Renaud, M. Debray, M. Morrel, seven; Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti, eight."

"Eight!" repeated Bertuccio.

"Stop! You are in a shocking hurry to be off--you forget one of my guests. Lean a little to the left. Stay! look at M. Andrea Cavalcanti, the young man in a black coat, looking at Murillo's Madonna; now he is turning." This time Bertuccio would have uttered an exclamation⁶⁴, had not a look from Monte Cristo silenced him. "Benedetto?" he muttered; "fatality⁶⁵!"

"Half-past six o'clock has just struck, M. Bertuccio," said the count severely⁶⁶; "I ordered dinner at that hour, and I do not like to wait;" and he returned to his guests, while Bertuccio, leaning against the wall, succeeded in reaching the dining-room. Five minutes afterwards the doors of the. drawing-room were thrown open, and Bertuccio appearing said, with a violent effort, "The dinner waits."

The Count of Monte Cristo offered his arm to Madame de Villefort. "M. de Villefort," he said, "will you conduct the Baroness Danglars?"

Villefort complied, and they passed on to the dining-room.

欧特伊村那座房子的外表，乍一看，并不见得怎么富丽堂皇，它使人想不到这会是那奢华的基督山伯爵的别墅。但这种朴素的情调是颇符合房子主人的心意的，他曾明明白白地吩咐过，不许外表有任何改变，这一点，只要一看房子的内部，谁都会立刻明白的。的确，大门一开，情景就改变了。

贝尔图乔先生充分显示了他在陈设布置方面的风趣和办事的果断迅速。从前安顿公爵在一夜之间就把整条大马路上的树木全部砍掉了，因此而惹恼了路易十四；贝尔图乔先生则在三天之内把一座完全光秃秃的前庭种满了白杨树和丫枝纵横的大枫树，使浓荫覆盖着房子的前前后后；房子前面通常都是半掩在杂草里的石子路，但这儿却伸展着一条青草铺成的走道，这条青草小道还是那天早晨才铺成的呢，草上的水珠还在闪闪发光呢。对其它的一切，伯爵也都有过明确的吩咐；他亲自画了一个图样给贝尔图乔，上面标明了每一棵树的地点以及那条代替石子路的青草走道长度和宽度。所以这座房子已完全变了样。连贝尔图乔都说他几乎认不出它了，它的四周已被树木所围绕了。管家本来想把花园也修整一番，但伯爵已明确地关照过，花园里的东西碰都不许碰一下，所以贝尔图乔只得把气力用到了别的上面，候见室里、楼梯上和壁炉架上到处都堆满了花。还有一点是最能显出主人学识渊博、指挥有方、理家办事得力的，就是：这座闲置了二十年的房子，在头一天晚上还是这样凄冷阴森，充满了令人闻之作呕的气味，几乎使人觉得好象嗅到了那陈年的气息，但在第二天，它却换上了一副生气勃勃的面孔，散发出了房子主人所喜爱的芳香，透露出使他心满意足的光线。当伯爵到来的时候，他只要一伸手就可以摸到他的书和武器；他的目光可以停留在他心爱的绘画上；他所宠爱的狗会摇头摆尾地在前厅欢迎他；小鸟们那悦耳的歌声也使他非常高兴；于是，这座从长眠中醒来的房子，就象森林里睡美人所在的宫殿般顿时活跃了起来，鸟儿歌唱，花儿盛开，就象那些我们曾流连过很久，当不得不离开的时候，以致把我们灵魂的一部分留在了那所房子里一样，仆人们也高高兴兴地在前庭穿来穿去的；有些是在厨房里干活的，他们飘然地滑下前一天才修好的楼梯，就好象在这座房子里已住了一辈子似的；有些是车房里干活的，那儿有一箱箱编了号的马车备用，看起来就象是已在那儿至少安放了五十年似的，在马厩里，马夫在同马说着话，他们的态度比许多仆人对待他们的主人还要恭敬得多，而马则用嘶鸣来回答。

书房里有将近二千册书，分别排在房间的两边。一边完全是近代的传奇小说，甚至前一天刚出版的新书也可以在这一排金色和红色封面所组成的庄严的行列中找到。书房对面是温室，里面摆满了盛开着奇花异草的瓷花盆；在这间色香奇妙的花房中央，有一张弹子台，弹球还在绒布上，显然刚刚有人玩过的。只有一个房间贝尔图乔没有改动。这个房间位于二楼左边的角上，前面有一座宽大的楼梯，后面还有一座暗梯可以上下，仆人们每当经过这个房间时都不免要好奇，而贝尔图乔往往产生恐怖感。五点整，伯爵来到了欧特伊别墅，他后面跟着阿里，贝尔图乔带着不耐烦和不安的心情在期待着他的到来，他希望能得到几声赞许，但同时又恐怕遭到斥责。基督山在前庭下了车，到花园里去绕了一圈，又在屋子里到处走了一遍，一句话也没说，脸上既未显示出赞许，也没显示出不悦的神色。他的卧室就在那个关闭着的房间的对面，他一踏进卧室，就指着他初次来看房子时就已注意到的那张花梨木小桌子的抽屉说道：“那个地方至少可以用来放我的手套。”

“大人想把它打开来看一下吗？”贝尔图乔高兴地说道，“您可以在里面找到一副手套的。”

在其他各种家具里，伯爵都找到了他所要找一切——嗅瓶、雪茄、珍玩。“很好！”他说道。于是贝尔图乔就喜不自禁地退了出去。伯爵对于他周围所有人的影响就是这样的强大。

六点整，大门口响起了得得的马蹄声，是那位驻阿尔及利亚的骑兵上尉，他是骑着米狄亚来的。基督山含笑在门口等候他。

“我就知道一定是我第一个到，”莫雷尔大声说，“我是有意要比别人早一分钟到您这儿的。尤利和埃曼纽埃尔托我向您有意万分地道歉。啊，这儿可真漂亮！但请告诉我，伯爵，您有人照料我的马吗？”

“放心好了，亲爱的马西米兰，他们知道该怎么做。”

“我的意思是它得蹓跶一下。噢，您没看到它跑得有多快，就象一阵风！”

“我能想象得出来。毕竟是一匹值五千法郎的马哪！”基督山用慈父对儿子说话的口吻说道。

“您有点懊悔了吧？”莫雷尔问道，并豪爽地大笑起来。

“我？当然不！”伯爵回答说。“不，假如那匹马不好，我倒是要懊悔的。”

“好得很呢，夏多·勒诺先生和德布雷先生骑的都是部长的阿拉伯马，夏多·勒诺先生还是法国最好的骑手之一呢，可我把他们都抛在后面了。他们的脚跟后面紧随着腾格拉尔夫人的马，而她总是以每小时十八哩的速度疾驰的。”

“那么说他们就跟在您的后面吗？”基督山问。

“瞧！他们来啦！”这时，只见两匹鼻子里喷着气的马拉着一辆马车，由两位骑在马上的绅士陪伴着，驰到了那敞开着的大门口。马车一直赶到台阶前面才停住，后面是那两位骑在马上的绅士。德布雷脚一点地，便站在了车门前面，他伸手给男爵夫人，男爵夫人便扶着他的手下了车，她扶手时的态度有点异样，这一点只有基督山才觉察得到的。真的，什么也逃不过伯爵的眼睛。他注意到一张小纸条从腾格拉尔夫人的手里塞进了部长秘书手里，塞得极其熟练，证明这个动作是常做的。腾格拉尔夫人的后面出来了那位银行家，只见他的脸色很苍白，好象他不是从马车里出来而是从坟墓里出来的似的。腾格拉尔夫人向四周急速并探询地望了一眼。只有基督山一个人能看懂这一个眼的意义。她在用她的眼光拥抱前庭、廊柱和房子的正面；然后，压制住内心微微的激动，不让脸色变白，以免被人识破，她走上了台阶，对莫雷尔说道：“阁下，假如您是我的朋友的话，我想问问您愿不愿意把您的那匹马卖给我。”

莫雷尔极为难地微笑了一下，转向基督山，象是祈求他来解救自己似的。伯爵直到懂得了他的意思。“啊，夫人！”他说道，“您干嘛来向我提这个要求？”

“向您提，阁下，”男爵夫人答道，那是没必要的，因为一定会得到的。假如莫雷尔先生也是这样的话——”

“不幸得很，”伯爵答道，“莫雷尔先生是不能放弃他那匹马的，因为马的去留和他的名誉密切相关，这事我是见证人。”

“怎么会呢？”

“他跟人打了赌，说要在六个月之内驯服米狄亚。您现在懂了吧，假如他在那个期限以前把它卖了，他不仅要损失那笔赌注，而且人家还会说他胆小，一个勇敢的骑兵队长是决不能忍受这一点的，即使是为了满足一个美丽的女子的愿望。当然，我也认为满足一个美丽的女子的愿望是天底下最神圣的义务之一。”

“您知道我的处境了吧，夫人。”莫雷尔说道，并感激地向伯爵微微一笑。

“要我说，”腾格拉尔说道，脸上虽勉强带着微笑，但仍掩饰不了他语气的粗鲁，“你的马已够多的了。”

腾格拉尔夫人以往是极少肯轻易放过这种话的，但使那些青年人惊奇的是：这次她竟假装没听见，什么也没说。基督山看到她一反常态，竟能忍气吞声，就微笑了一下，指给她看两只硕大无比的瓷瓶，瓷瓶上布满了精细的海生植物，那显然不是人工加上去的。男爵夫人很是惊奇。“咦，”她说道，您可以把杜伊勒里宫的栗子树都种在那里啦！这么大的瓷瓶是怎么造出来的？”

“啊，夫人！”基督山答道，“对这个问题我们是无法回答您的，因为我们这一代人只会造些小摆饰和玻璃麻纱。这是古物，是用水土之精华构成的。”

“怎么？这是哪个朝代的事呢？”

“我也不晓得。只听说，中国有个皇帝造了一座窑，在这座窖里烧制出了十二只这样的瓷瓶。其中有两只因为火力太猛而破裂了，其余十只全被沉到了两百丈深的海底里，海是了解人们对她的要求的，因为就用海草掩盖了它们，用珊瑚环绕着它们，用贝壳来粘附着它们，这十只瓷瓶就在那几乎深不可达的海底世界里躺了两百年。后来，由于一场革命革掉了那个想作这种试验的皇帝，只剩下一些文件可以证明瓷瓶的制造以及把它们沉入了海底这回事。过了两百年，人们找到了那些文件，于是就想到要去把那些瓷瓶捞起来。他们特地派人潜入那个沉瓶的海底里去寻找，但十只之中只剩下了三只，其余的则都被海浪冲破了。我很喜欢这些瓷瓶，因为或许曾有狰狞可怕的妖怪的目光凝视过它们，而无数小鱼也曾睡在那里面以逃避天敌的追捕。”

这时，腾格拉尔对这些奇古怪的事不感兴趣，正机械地在那儿把一棵桔子树上盛开着的花一朵一朵地扯下来。扯完了桔子花，他又去撕仙人掌，但这东西可不象桔子树那么容易扯，所以他被厉害地刺了一下。他不禁打了个寒颤，抹了抹眼睛，象是刚从一场梦中醒来似的。

“阁下，”基督山对他说道，“我不敢向您推荐我的画，因为您有很多珍品，但这儿有几幅还是值得看一下的，两幅荷比马的，一幅保罗·保特的，一幅是米里斯的，两幅琪拉特的，一幅拉斐尔的，一幅范代克的，一幅朱巴兰的，还有两、三幅是穆里罗斯的。”

“慢来！”德布雷说道，“荷比马的这幅画我认得。”

“啊，真的！”

“是的，有人曾把它卖给博物馆。”

“我相信博物馆里是没有这幅的吧？”基督山说道。

“没有，他们不肯买。”

“为什么？”夏多·勒诺问。

“你别装得不知道了，因为政府没有钱呀。”

“啊，对不起！”夏多·勒诺说，“最近八年来，我几乎每天都听到这种话，可我到现在还是不懂。”

“你慢慢就会懂的。”德布雷。

“我看不见得。”夏多·勒诺回答。

“巴陀罗米奥·卡瓦尔康蒂少校和安德烈·卡瓦尔康蒂子爵到！”巴浦斯汀在通报。

系着一条刚从裁缝手里接过来的黑缎子领巾，灰色的胡须，一对金鱼眼，一套挂着三个勋章和五个十字奖章的少校制服，这些的确都显示出了一个老军人的派头。这就是巴陀罗米奥·卡瓦尔康蒂，我们已经结识过的那位慈父的仪表。紧靠在他旁边，从头到脚穿着一身新的，满面笑容的，是我们也认识的那位孝子——安德烈·卡瓦尔康蒂子爵。三个青年人本来在一起谈话。两位新客一进来，他们的目光就从那父亲瞟到了儿子，然后很自然地停在了后者的身上，并开始对他议论起来。

“卡瓦尔康蒂！”德布雷说。

“好响亮的名字！”莫雷尔说。

“是的，”夏多·勒诺说，”德布雷答道，“这套衣服剪裁得很合体，而且也很新。”

“我觉得糟就糟在这一点上。那位先生看来象是平生第一次穿好衣服似的。”

“这两位先生是谁？”腾格拉尔问基督山。

“没听到吗——卡瓦尔康蒂。”

“可那只告诉了他们的姓。”

“啊，不错！您不了解意大利贵族，卡瓦尔康蒂这一家族是亲王的后裔。”

“他们有钱吗？”

“多极了。”

“他们干些什么呢？”

“他们花钱，把钱都花光。我好象记得，前天他们告诉过我，说有些事情要跟您接洽。今天我实在是为了您才请他们来的。我一会儿给你们介绍一下。”

“可他们的法语倒说得非常纯正呀。”腾格拉尔说。

“那年轻人是在南部的某个大学里受过教育的。可能在马赛吧，我相，要不然也是在那附近某个地方。您一会儿就知道了，他可是很热情的。”

“对什么热情？”腾格拉尔夫人问。

“对法国的太太小姐们，夫人。他决心要在巴黎娶一位太太。”

“这个念头想得倒美！”腾格拉尔耸耸肩说道。

“腾格拉尔夫人瞟了她丈夫一眼，在别的时候，这种目光无疑是一场风波的预兆，但她又一次克制住了自己。

“男爵今天看来有点心不在焉的样子，”基督山对她说道，“他们要推荐他入内阁了吗？”

“还没有吧，我想。他多半是因为在证券交易所里搞投机输了钱的缘故。”

“维尔福先生偕夫人到！”巴浦斯汀喊道。

“那两个人进来了。维尔福先生虽极力自制着，但他的神色明显地很不自然，当基督山和他握手的时候，他觉得那只手有点颤抖。“的确，只有女人才知道怎么装模作样。”他自己心里说，同时瞟了一眼腾格拉尔夫人，腾格拉尔夫人此时正在对检察官微笑，然后他拥抱了一下他的妻子。过了一会儿，伯爵看到贝尔图乔踏进了隔壁房间里（在这之前，贝尔图乔始终都在另外几个房间里忙碌着）。伯爵走到他跟前。

“你有什么事，贝尔图乔先生？”他说。

“大人还没讲明有几位客人呢。”

“啊，不错！”

“要用几副刀叉？”

“你自己数吧。”

“所有的人都到了吗，大人？”

“是的。”

贝尔图乔从半开着的门里瞧进去。伯爵有意地观察着他的表情。“天哪！”只见他惊叫道。

“什么事？”伯爵问道。

“那个女人！那个女人！”

“哪一个？”

“那个穿白衣服，戴那么多钻石的，那个白皮肤的。”

“腾格拉尔夫人？”

“我不知道她的名字，是她，大人，就是她！”

“是谁呀？”

“花园里的那个女人。她就是那个孕妇，那个一边散步、一边等候”贝尔图乔呆立在那半开着的门口，瞪着眼，头发直竖了起来。

“等候谁？”

“贝尔图乔没有回答，只是用麦克白斯指着班柯［麦克白斯和班柯都是英国戏剧家莎士比的悲剧《麦克白斯》里的人物。——译注］时的那种姿势指了指维尔福。“噢，噢！”他终于结结巴巴地说，“您看见了吗？”

“看见了什么？”谁呀？”

“他！”

“他！维尔福先生，那位检察官？我当然看得见他。”

“那么我没杀死他！”

“真的，我看你快要发疯啦，好贝尔图乔。”伯爵说道。

“那么说他没死！”

“没有，你现在分明看到了他并没死。你的同胞们刺人总是刺在第六和第七条肋骨之间，你当时一定刺得不是太高就是太低了，而这些吃法律饭的人，他们都很命大。当然，也许你告诉我的那些话根本就不是事实，而是你想象中的一幕幻景或是幻想出来的一场梦。当你满怀着复仇的念头去睡觉时，那些念头重重地压住了你的胸口，于是你就做了一场恶梦，仅此而已。不，镇定一点，算算看：维尔福先生夫妇，两个。加上腾格拉尔先生夫妇，四个。再加上夏多·勒诺先生、德布雷先生、莫雷尔先生，七个。还有巴陀罗米奥·卡瓦尔康蒂少校，八个。”

“八个！”贝尔图乔跟着说。

“别忙！你急着想走开，可忘了我的一位贵宾啦。往左面靠过去一点。喏！瞧一下安德烈·卡瓦尔康蒂先生，就是穿黑色上装的那位青年人，他现在转过身来了。”

这一次，要不是基督山用目光阻止了他，贝尔图乔一定会大声惊叫起来的。“贝尼代托！”他喃喃地说道：“天数啊！”

“六点半刚才敲过了，贝尔图乔先生，”伯爵严厉地说道，“曾吩咐过这个时候开宴的，我可不愿意多等。”于是他回到了他的客人那儿，贝尔图乔在墙上靠了一会儿，勉强回到了餐厅里。五分钟过后，客厅的门大开，贝尔图乔象尚蒂伊的瓦代尔［瓦代尔是贡德公爵的管家，一次，公爵在尚蒂伊宴请路易十四，他因为未能将鲜海鱼及时送上，感到羞愧而鼓足最后的勇气拔剑自刎。——译注］一样，鼓足最后的勇气说道：“禀告伯爵阁下，酒席准备好了。”

基督山伯爵把他的胳膊伸给了维尔福夫人。“维尔福先生，”他说，“请您引导腾格拉尔男爵夫人好吗？”

维尔福从命，于是他们转到了餐厅里。

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