nations, and pirates of every flag. Who knows whether or not these
industrious worthies do not pay to their feudal lord some dues for his protection."
"That is possible," said the countess, reflecting.
"Never mind," continued the young man, "smuggler or not, you must agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that the Count of Monte-Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have the greatest success in the salons of Paris. Why, this very morning, at my abode, he made his entree amongst us by striking every man of us with amazement, not even excepting Chateau-Renaud."
"And what do you suppose is the count's age?" inquired Mercedes, evidently attaching great importance to this question.
"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."
"So young! it is impossible," said Mercedes, replying at the same time to what Albert said as well as to her own private reflection.
"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said to me, and certainly without the slightest premeditation, at such a period I was five years old, at another ten years old, at another twelve, and I, induced by curiosity, which kept me alive to these details, have compared the dates, and never found him inaccurate. The age of this singular man, who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five. Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-black his hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free from wrinkles,—he is not only vigorous, but also young."
The countess bent her head, as if beneath a heavy wave of bitter thoughts.
"And has this man displayed a friendship for you, Albert?" she asked, with a nervous shudder.
"I am inclined to think so."
"And—do—you—like—him?"
"Why, he pleases me, in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to convince me that he is a being returned from the other world." The countess shuddered.
"Albert," she said, in a voice which was altered by emotion, "I have always put you on your guard against new acquaintances. Now you are a man, and are able to give me advice; yet I repeat to you, Albert be prudent."
"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your advice turn to account, that I should know beforehand what I have to distrust. The count never plays, he only drinks pure water tinged with a little sherry, and is so rich that he cannot, without intending to laugh at me, try to borrow money. What, then, have I to fear from him?"
"You are right," said the countess, "and my fears are weakness,
