CHAPTER LXXXI
THE ROOM OF THE RETIRED BAKER
HE evening of the day on which the Count de Morcerf had left Danglars' house with feelings of shame and anger, caused by the banker's coldness, Andrea Cavalcanti, with curled hair, mustaches in perfect order, and white gloves which fitted admirably, had entered the court-yard of the banker's house in La Chaussée d'Antin. He had not been more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-window; and, after an ingenious preamble, related to him all his anxieties since his noble father's departure. He had found, he said, in the banker's family, in which he had been received as a son, all the guarantees of happiness, which one ought to seek for in preference to the caprices of passion, and as regards passion itself, he had the felicity of meeting it in the lovely eyes of Mademoiselle Danglars.
Danglars listened with the most profound attention; he had expected this declaration the last two or three days; and when at last it came, his eyes glistened as much as they had lowered on listening to Morcerf. He would not, however, yield immediately to the young man's request, but made a few conscientious scruples.
"Are you not rather young, M. Andrea, to think of marrying?"
"I think not, sir," replied Cavalcanti; "in Italy the nobility generally marry young; life is so uncertain, we ought to secure happiness while it is within our reach."
"Well, sir," said Danglars, "in case your proposals, which do me honor, are accepted by my wife and daughter, by whom shall the preliminary arrangements be settled? So important a negotiation should, I think, be conducted by the respective fathers of the young people."
"Sir, my father is a man of great foresight and prudence. Imagining I might wish to settle in France, he left me at his departure, together
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