Chapter 114: The Collection: II
The man was somewhere between forty and forty-five, though he looked at least fifty. His black mustache and eyebrows contrasted starkly with his nearly white, military-cut hair. He wore civilian clothes with various ribbons pinned to his lapel. He entered with dignified but somewhat hurried steps.
Monte Cristo watched him approach without moving a single step himself. His feet seemed rooted to the floor, his eyes fixed on the Count of Morcerf.
"Father," the young man said, "I have the honor of presenting the Count of Monte Cristo, the generous friend I had the good fortune to meet during that critical situation I told you about."
"You are most welcome, sir," the Count of Morcerf said, greeting Monte Cristo with a smile. "You’ve rendered our house an invaluable service by preserving our only heir, which ensures our eternal gratitude." As he spoke, he gestured to a chair while seating himself in another opposite the window.
When Monte Cristo took the offered seat, he positioned himself to remain concealed in the shadow of the large velvet curtains. From there, he studied the count’s worn, pale features, reading in every wrinkle a history of secret sorrows.
"My wife," Morcerf said, "was getting ready when she learned of your visit. She’ll join us in the salon within ten minutes."
"It’s a great honor," Monte Cristo replied, "to be brought into contact with a man whose merit equals his reputation on my very first day in the capital. Fortune has been equitable to you for once, though doesn’t she still owe you a marshal’s staff for your service in those foreign campaigns?"
"Oh," Morcerf replied, reddening slightly, "I’ve left military service, sir. I was made a peer when the monarchy was restored, and I served in the first campaign. I could have expected higher rank, and who knows what might have happened if the old royal line had remained in power? But the revolution seemed to think it was glorious enough to be ungrateful, at least toward all service that didn’t date from the previous imperial period. I resigned, because when you’ve earned your rank on the battlefield, you don’t know how to maneuver through the slippery politics of high society. I’ve hung up my sword and entered politics instead. I’ve devoted myself to industry and studying the useful arts. During my twenty years of service, I often wished to do this, but never had the time."
"These are the ideas that make your nation superior to any other," Monte Cristo responded. "A gentleman of noble birth with ample fortune, you earned your military promotion step by step as an ordinary soldier, this is uncommon. Then, having become a general, a peer, and a commander, you consent to begin a second apprenticeship with no hope or desire beyond someday becoming useful to your fellow citizens. This is not merely praiseworthy, it’s sublime."
Albert listened in astonishment. He wasn’t used to seeing Monte Cristo express such enthusiastic praise.
"Alas," the stranger continued, perhaps to dispel the slight cloud that had crossed Morcerf’s brow, "we don’t act this way in my country. We grow according to our heritage and station, pursuing the same paths, often the same useless paths, all our lives."
"But sir," the Count of Morcerf said, "for a man of your merit, surely your homeland is too small. This nation opens her arms to receive you! Answer her call. She may not always be ungrateful. She treats her own children poorly but always welcomes strangers."
"Ah, Father," Albert said with a smile, "clearly you don’t know the Count of Monte Cristo. He despises all honors and contents himself only with those written in his passport."
"That is the most accurate remark," the stranger replied, "I’ve ever heard made about myself."
"You’ve been free to choose your own path," the Count of Morcerf observed with a sigh, "and you’ve chosen the one strewn with flowers."
"Precisely, sir," Monte Cristo replied with one of those enigmatic smiles that no painter could capture or scientist analyze.
"If I didn’t fear tiring you," the general said, clearly charmed by the Count’s manner, "I’d take you to the legislative chamber. There’s a debate today very interesting to foreigners unfamiliar with our modern politics."
"I’d be most grateful if you’d renew that offer in the future, sir, but I’ve been promised an introduction to your wife, and I’ll wait for that."
"Ah, here is my mother," the viscount announced.
Monte Cristo turned quickly and saw Madame de Morcerf at the salon entrance, opposite the door through which her husband had entered. She stood pale and motionless. When Monte Cristo turned, she let her arm fall, it had been resting on the gilded doorpost for some unknown reason. She’d been standing there for several moments and had heard the visitor’s last words.
Monte Cristo rose and bowed to the countess, who inclined her head without speaking.
"Good heavens, madame," the Count said, "are you unwell, or is the room too warm?"
"Are you ill, Mother?" the viscount cried, rushing toward her.
She thanked them both with a smile. "No, but I feel some emotion seeing, for the first time, the man without whose intervention we would be in tears and mourning. Sir," she continued, advancing with regal bearing, "I owe you my son’s life, and for this I bless you. Now I thank you for giving me the opportunity to thank you as I’ve blessed you, from the bottom of my heart."
The Count bowed again, even lower than before. He was paler than Mercedes herself.
"Madame," he said, "you and your husband reward too generously a simple action. To save a man, to spare a father’s grief or a mother’s pain, is not a good deed but merely a simple act of humanity."
At these words, spoken with exquisite gentleness and courtesy, Madame de Morcerf replied, "It’s very fortunate for my son that he found such a friend, and I thank God for it."
Mercedes raised her beautiful eyes to heaven with such fervent gratitude that the Count thought he saw tears in them.
Mr. de Morcerf approached her. "Madame, I’ve already apologized to the Count for leaving him, and I ask you to do the same. The session begins at two o’clock. It’s now three, and I’m scheduled to speak."
"Go then, and the Count and I will do our best to forget your absence," the countess replied with the same tone of deep feeling. "Sir," she continued, turning to Monte Cristo, "will you honor us by spending the rest of the day here?"
"Believe me, madame, I’m most grateful for your kindness, but I stepped out of my traveling carriage at your door only this morning, and I don’t yet know how I’m situated in this city, which I barely know. It’s a small concern, I realize, but one you can appreciate."
"We’ll have the pleasure another time, then. You promise?"
Monte Cristo bowed without answering, but the gesture could pass for agreement.
"I won’t detain you further, sir," the countess continued. "I wouldn’t want our gratitude to become intrusive or burdensome."
"My dear Count," Albert said, "let me return your courtesy. When you visit my city, I’ll place my carriage at your disposal until yours is ready."
"A thousand thanks for your kindness, Viscount," the Count of Monte Cristo replied, "but I assume my steward has properly used the four and a half hours I gave him, and I’ll find a suitable carriage ready at the door."
Albert was used to the Count’s manner of doing things. He knew Monte Cristo, like the ancient emperor who searched for the impossible, was never surprised by anything. But wanting to see with his own eyes how the Count’s orders had been executed, he accompanied him to the door.
Monte Cristo wasn’t mistaken. As soon as he appeared in the entrance hall, a footman, the same one who’d brought the Count’s card and announced his visit back in the other city, rushed into the vestibule. When they reached the street door, a magnificent carriage awaited the illustrious traveler.
It was a luxury vehicle with horses and equipment that a famous horse dealer had, to the knowledge of all the fashionable society, refused to sell the previous day for a small fortune.