"What, then, is it?"
"A skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abbe Adelmonte, who taught me the use of it."
"Oh," observed Madame de Villefort, "it must be an admirable anti-spasmodic."
"Perfect, madame, as you have seen," replied the count; "and I frequently make use of it—with all possible prudence though, be it observed," he added with a smile of intelligence.
"Most assuredly," responded Madame de Villefort in the same tone. "As for me, so nervous, and so subject to fainting fits, I should require a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of breathing freely and tranquillizing my mind, in the fear I have of dying some fine day of suffocation.
In the meanwhile, as the thing is difficult to find in France, and your abbe is not probably disposed to make a journey to Paris on my account, I must continue to use Monsieur Planche's anti-spasmodics; and mint and Hoffman's drops are among my favorite remedies.
Here are some lozenges which I have made up on purpose; they are compounded doubly strong."
Monte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell box, which the lady presented to him, and inhaled the odor of the lozenges with the air of an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their composition.
"They are indeed exquisite," he said; "but as they are necessarily submitted to the process of deglutition—a function which it is frequently impossible for a fainting person to accomplish—I prefer my own specific."
"Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I have seen produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am not so indiscreet as to ask it of you."
"But I," said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke—"I am gallant enough to offer it you."
"How kind you are."
"Only remember one thing—a small dose is a remedy, a large one is poison.
One drop will restore life, as you have seen; five or six will inevitably kill, and in a way the more terrible inasmuch as, poured into a glass of wine, it would not in the slightest degree affect its flavor.
But I say no more, madame; it is really as if I were prescribing for you."
The clock struck half-past six, and a lady was announced, a friend of Madame de Villefort, who came to dine with her.
"If I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or fourth time, count, instead of only for the second," said Madame de Villefort; "if I had had the honor of being your friend, instead of only having the happiness of being under an obligation to you, I should insist on detaining you to dinner, and not allow myself to be daunted by a first refusal."
"A thousand thanks, madame," replied Monte Cristo "but I have an engagement which I cannot break.
I have promised to escort to the Academie a Greek princess of my acquaintance who has never seen your grand opera, and who relies on me to conduct her thither."
"Adieu, then, sir, and do not forget the prescription."
"Ah, in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's conversation I have had with you, which is indeed impossible."
Monte Cristo bowed, and left the house.
Madame de Villefort remained immersed in thought.
"He is a very strange man," she said, "and in my opinion is himself the Adelmonte he talks about."
As to Monte Cristo the result had surpassed his utmost expectations.
"Good," said he, as he went away; "this is a fruitful soil, and I feel certain that the seed sown will not be cast on barren ground."
Next morning, faithful to his promise, he sent the prescription requested.
Chapter 53.
Robert le Diable.
The pretext of an opera engagement was so much the more feasible, as there chanced to be on that very night a more than ordinary attraction at the Academie Royale.
Levasseur, who had been suffering under severe illness, made his reappearance in the character of Bertrand, and, as usual, the announcement of the most admired production of the favorite composer of the day had attracted a brilliant and fashionable audience.
Morcerf, like most other young men of rank and fortune, had his orchestra stall, with the certainty of always finding a seat in at least a dozen of the principal boxes occupied by persons of his acquaintance; he had, moreover, his right of entry into the omnibus box.
Chateau-Renaud rented a stall beside his own, while Beauchamp, as a journalist, had unlimited range all over the theatre.
It happened that on this particular night the minister's box was placed at the disposal of Lucien Debray, who offered it to the Comte de Morcerf, who again, upon his mother's rejection of it, sent it to Danglars, with an intimation that he should probably do himself the honor of joining the baroness and her daughter during the evening, in the event of their accepting the box in question.
The ladies received the offer with too much pleasure to dream of a refusal.
To no class of persons is the presentation of a gratuitous opera-box more acceptable than to the wealthy millionaire, who still hugs economy while boasting of carrying a king's ransom in his waistcoat pocket.
Danglars had, however, protested against showing himself in a ministerial box, declaring that his political principles, and his parliamentary position as member of the opposition party would not permit him so to commit himself; the baroness had, therefore, despatched a note to Lucien Debray, bidding him call for them, it being wholly impossible for her to go alone with Eugenie to the opera.
There is no gainsaying the fact that a very unfavorable construction would have been put upon the circumstance if the two women had gone without escort, while the addition of a third, in the person of her mother's admitted lover, enabled Mademoiselle Danglars to defy malice and ill-nature. One must take the world as one finds it.
The curtain rose, as usual, to an almost empty house, it being one of the absurdities of Parisian fashion never to appear at the opera until after the beginning of the performance, so that the first act is generally played without the slightest attention being paid to it, that part of the audience already assembled being too much occupied in observing the fresh arrivals, while nothing is heard but the noise of opening and shutting doors, and the buzz of conversation.
"Surely," said Albert, as the door of a box on the first circle opened, "that must be the Countess G——."
"And who is the Countess G——?" inquired Chateau-Renaud.
"What a question!
Now, do you know, baron, I have a great mind to pick a quarrel with you for asking it; as if all the world did not know who the Countess G—— was."
"Ah, to be sure," replied Chateau-Renaud; "the lovely Venetian, is it not?"
"Herself."
At this moment the countess perceived Albert, and returned his salutation with a smile.
"You know her, it seems?" said Chateau-Renaud.
"Franz introduced me to her at Rome," replied Albert.
"Well, then, will you do as much for me in Paris as Franz did for you in Rome?"
"With pleasure."