Chapter 109: The Breakfast: I
"So who exactly are you expecting for breakfast?" Beauchamp asked.
"A gentleman and a diplomat," Albert replied.
"Then we’ll be waiting forever. The gentleman will be two hours late, and the diplomat three. I’ll come back for dessert, save me some strawberries, coffee, and cigars. I’ll grab a quick bite on my way to work."
"Don’t do that. Even if our guests were royalty itself, we’re eating at eleven sharp. In the meantime, follow Debray’s example and have some sherry and a biscuit."
"Fine, I’ll stay. I need something to take my mind off things anyway."
"You’re as gloomy as Debray, yet it seems to me when the government minister is miserable, you opposition guys should be celebrating."
"You have no idea what I’m facing today. This morning I’ll have to sit through Mr. Danglars giving a speech in parliament, and tonight at his wife’s party, I’ll be forced to watch some pretentious theatrical performance. To hell with politics, if we had a choice in how things turned out, why did we choose this?"
"I see. You need to stock up on good humor while you can."
"Don’t trash-talk Mr. Danglars’ speeches," Debray said. "He votes with your party, after all."
"That’s exactly the problem! I’m waiting for you to promote him somewhere far away so I can finally laugh in peace."
"My dear friend," Albert said to Beauchamp, "you’re clearly in a terrible mood this morning. Remember, the gossip columns have already linked me romantically to Danglars’ daughter, Eugénie. I can’t let you badmouth a man who might one day tell me, ’Son-in-law, you know I’m giving my daughter two million in her dowry.’"
"That marriage will never happen," Beauchamp scoffed. "Sure, the king gave him a noble title, but he can’t make him true nobility. The Count of Morcerf is too aristocratic to agree to such a social mismatch, even for two million. A Viscount like Albert can only marry into old money families."
"Still, two million is nothing to sneeze at," Albert replied.
"It’s pocket change, barely enough to fund a theater production or a minor railway line."
"Ignore him, Morcerf," Debray interjected. "Marry her. Yes, you’d be marrying money without the pedigree, but so what? It’s better to have less prestige and more cash. You’ve got noble heritage to spare, share some with your wife and you’ll still have plenty left over. You’d still have more than historical figures who nearly became kings."
"You know what, Lucien? You might be right," Albert said absently.
"Of course I am. Besides, every millionaire is as good as nobility these days, or at least they can be."
"Careful with that kind of talk, Debray," Beauchamp said, laughing. "Château-Renaud here might challenge you to a duel for such heresy. His family goes back centuries."
"Then he’d be wasting his ancestral sword on me," Lucien replied. "I’m common-born, very common."
"Good grief," Beauchamp cried. "Now the government minister is quoting rebellious poets! What’s the world coming to?"
"Mr. de Château-Renaud and Mr. Maximilian Morrel," announced the servant, showing in two new arrivals.
"Finally, let’s eat!" said Beauchamp. "If I remember correctly, Albert, you said you were only expecting two people."
"Morrel?" Albert muttered. "Morrel? Who’s that?"
Before he could finish his thought, Château-Renaud entered, a handsome thirty-year-old who carried himself with natural grace and aristocratic wit. He took Albert’s hand warmly.
"My dear Albert," he said, "allow me to introduce Captain Maximilian Morrel of the cavalry, my friend and, more importantly, my savior. Meet my hero, everyone."
He stepped aside to reveal a young man with a dignified bearing, intelligent eyes, and a striking presence. He wore a military uniform that blended traditional and exotic elements, and a medal of honor decorated his chest. Those who knew the city’s history might have recognized him from dramatic events that had occurred there years ago.
The young officer bowed politely.
"Sir," Albert said with genuine warmth, "Château-Renaud knew how much pleasure this introduction would give me. You’re his friend, please be ours as well."
"Well said," Château-Renaud agreed. "And pray that if you’re ever in similar danger, he’ll do for you what he did for me."
"What did he do?" Albert asked.
"Oh, nothing worth mentioning," Morrel said modestly. "Mr. de Château-Renaud exaggerates."
"Nothing worth mentioning?" Château-Renaud exclaimed. "He saved my life! Though I suppose when you risk your life daily, saving someone else seems trivial. But for those of us who only face death once-"
"So Captain Morrel saved your life, then."
"Exactly."
"What happened?" asked Beauchamp.
"Beauchamp, please," Debray groaned. "I’m starving. Don’t start him on some long story."
"I’m not stopping you from eating," Beauchamp replied. "Château-Renaud can tell us while we have breakfast."
"Gentlemen," Albert interjected, "it’s only quarter past ten, and I’m expecting one more person."
"Ah yes, the diplomat!" Debray remembered.
"Diplomat or not, I don’t know. I only know he performed a service for me that was so satisfactory, if I were king, I would have given him the highest honors in the land."
"Well, if we’re not eating yet," said Debray, "have some sherry and tell us everything."
"You all know I had this idea to travel to North Africa."
"Following in your family’s footsteps," Albert said graciously.
"Yes, though unlike my ancestors, I wasn’t going to liberate any holy sites."
"Exactly right, Beauchamp," the young aristocrat confirmed. "I went purely for adventure. I can’t stand formal duels anymore, not since I was forced to break the arm of one of my best friends in a sanctioned fight."
"Oh right," said Debray. "You did fight a duel recently. What was it about?"
"Damned if I remember," Château-Renaud admitted. "But I do remember that, not wanting to waste my skills, I wanted to test some new pistols I’d been given. So I traveled to North Africa and eventually found myself caught up in a military retreat. For forty-eight hours, I endured rain during the day and freezing cold at night. But on the third morning, my horse died from the cold. Poor animal, it was used to heated stables, not the brutal desert."
"Is that why you want to buy my horse?" Debray asked. "You think it’ll handle the cold better?"
"No, I’ve sworn never to return to Africa."
"Were you that frightened?" Beauchamp teased.
"Yes, and with good reason," Château-Renaud replied seriously. "I was retreating on foot after my horse died. Six raiders came charging at me at full gallop, intent on killing me. I shot two with my rifle and two more with my pistols, but then I was out of ammunition. Two were still left. One grabbed me by the hair, which is why I wear it short now, and the other raised his blade. I could already feel cold steel against my neck when this gentleman you see here charged in. He shot the one holding me and split the other’s skull with his sword. He’d decided that day to save someone’s life, and by chance, that someone was me. When I’m rich, I’ll commission a statue to Chance itself."
"Yes," Morrel said with a smile, "it was September fifth, the anniversary of the day my father was miraculously saved. So I try to celebrate it by performing some act of-"
"Heroism," Château-Renaud interrupted. "I was the lucky recipient. But that’s not all. After saving me from death, he saved me from freezing, not by sharing his cloak, but by giving me the whole thing. Then he saved me from starvation by sharing, guess what?"
"Rations?" asked Beauchamp.
"No, his horse! We each ate a portion with hearty appetites. It was very difficult."
"The horse?" Albert asked, laughing.
"No, the sacrifice," Château-Renaud corrected. "Ask Debray if he’d sacrifice his prized horse for a stranger."
"Not for a stranger," Debray admitted, "but for a friend, perhaps."
"I sensed you would become my friend, Count," Morrel replied. "Besides, as I mentioned, heroism or not, that day I owed fate a good deed in return for past favors."
"The story Mr. Morrel refers to," Château-Renaud continued, "is remarkable, and he’ll tell you someday when you know him better. For now, let’s focus on filling our stomachs rather than dwelling on memories. What time are we eating, Albert?"
"Half past ten."
"Exactly?" Debray checked his watch.
"Give me five minutes’ grace," Albert replied. "I’m also expecting someone who saved my life."
"Really?"
"Absolutely! You think only Château-Renaud can be rescued? That only foreign raiders take hostages? This breakfast is turning into a philanthropic gathering, we’ll have two saviors of humanity at the table, or so I hope."
"What should we do?" said Debray sarcastically. "We only have one humanitarian award to give."
"Then we’ll give it to someone who doesn’t deserve it," said Beauchamp. "That’s how these things usually work anyway."
"So where is this mysterious guest from?" asked Debray. "You answered before, but so vaguely I’m asking again."
"Honestly," said Albert, "I don’t know. When I invited him three months ago, he was in Rome, but who knows where he’s traveled since then?"
"And you think he’ll actually arrive on time?" Debray asked skeptically.
"I think he’s capable of anything."
"Well, with your five-minute grace period, we only have ten minutes left."
"Then I’ll use them to tell you about my guest."
"Wait," Beauchamp interrupted. "Is there material here for an article?"
"Yes, and a fascinating one."
"Then continue, I can see I won’t make it to parliament this morning. I’ll have to make up for lost time later."
"I was in Rome during carnival season last year."
"We know that," said Beauchamp.
"Yes, but what you don’t know is that I was kidnapped by bandits."
"There are no bandits anymore!" Debray protested.
"Yes there are, and terrifying ones, or rather, fascinating ones, though they frightened me badly at the time."
"Come on, Albert," said Debray. "Just admit your chef is running late, the oysters haven’t arrived, and you’re stalling with a story. We’ll understand, we’re civilized enough to forgive you and listen anyway, fabulous as it promises to be."
"Fabulous as it may seem, I’m telling you the absolute truth. The bandits kidnapped me and took me to a gloomy place called the Catacombs."