Her first look was at the box where she had seen the count the previous evening, so that she perceived Franz and Albert in the place of the very person concerning whom she had expressed so strange an opinion to Franz.
Her opera-glass was so fixedly directed towards them, that Franz saw it would be cruel not to satisfy her curiosity; and, availing himself of one of the privileges of the spectators of the Italian theatres, who use their boxes to hold receptions, the two friends went to pay their respects to the countess.
Scarcely had they entered, when she motioned to Franz to assume the seat of honor.
Albert, in his turn, sat behind.
"Well," said she, hardly giving Franz time to sit down, "it seems you have nothing better to do than to make the acquaintance of this new Lord Ruthven, and you are already the best friends in the world."
"Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess," returned Franz, "I cannot deny that we have abused his good nature all day."
"All day?"
"Yes; this morning we breakfasted with him; we rode in his carriage all day, and now we have taken possession of his box."
"You know him, then?"
"Yes, and no."
"How so?"
"It is a long story."
"Tell it to me."
"It would frighten you too much."
"So much the more reason."
"At least wait until the story has a conclusion."
"Very well; I prefer complete histories; but tell me how you made his acquaintance?
Did any one introduce you to him?"
"No; it was he who introduced himself to us."
"When?"
"Last night, after we left you."
"Through what medium?"
"The very prosaic one of our landlord."
"He is staying, then, at the Hotel de Londres with you?"
"Not only in the same hotel, but on the same floor."
"What is his name—for, of course, you know?"
"The Count of Monte Cristo."
"That is not a family name?"
"No, it is the name of the island he has purchased."
"And he is a count?"
"A Tuscan count."
"Well, we must put up with that," said the countess, who was herself from one of the oldest Venetian families. "What sort of a man is he?"
"Ask the Vicomte de Morcerf."
"You hear, M. de Morcerf, I am referred to you," said the countess.
"We should be very hard to please, madam," returned Albert, "did we not think him delightful. A friend of ten years' standing could not have done more for us, or with a more perfect courtesy."
"Come," observed the countess, smiling, "I see my vampire is only some millionaire, who has taken the appearance of Lara in order to avoid being confounded with M. de Rothschild; and you have seen her?"
"Her?"
"The beautiful Greek of yesterday."
"No; we heard, I think, the sound of her guzla, but she remained perfectly invisible."
"When you say invisible," interrupted Albert, "it is only to keep up the mystery; for whom do you take the blue domino at the window with the white curtains?"
"Where was this window with white hangings?" asked the countess.
"At the Rospoli Palace."
"The count had three windows at the Rospoli Palace?"
"Yes.
Did you pass through the Corso?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask, and one with white damask with a red cross?
Those were the count's windows."
"Why, he must be a nabob.
Do you know what those three windows were worth?"