Why, you are mad, Albert! M. de Monte-Cristo has only shown us kindness. M. de Monte-Cristo saved your life; you, yourself, presented him to us. Oh! I entreat you, my son, if you had entertained such an idea, dispel it; and my counsel to you―even more, my prayer, is, retain his friendship."
"My mother," replied the young man, "you have special reasons for telling me to conciliate that man."
"I!" said Mercédès, blushing as rapidly as she had turned pale, and again becoming paler than ever.
"Yes, doubtless; and it is not because he can never do us any harm?"
Mercédès shuddered, and, fixing on her son a scrutinizing gaze, "You speak strangely," said she to Albert, "and you appear to have some singular prejudices. What has the count done? Three days since you were with him in Normandy; only three days since we looked on him as our best friend."
An ironical smile passed over Albert's lips. Mercédès saw it, and, with her double instinct of a woman and a mother, she guessed all, but, prudent and strong-minded, she concealed both her sorrows and her fears. Albert was silent; an instant after, the countess resumed:
"You came to inquire after my health; I will candidly acknowledge I am not well. You should install yourself here and cheer my solitude. I do not wish to be left alone."
"My mother," said the young man, "you know how gladly I would obey your wish; but an urgent and important affair obliges me to leave you the whole evening."
"Well!" replied Mercédès, sighing; "go, Albert, I will not make you a slave to your filial piety."
Albert pretended he did not hear, bowed to his mother, and quitted her. Scarcely had he shut her door, than Mercédès called a confidential servant, and ordered him to follow Albert wherever he should go that evening, and to come and tell her immediately what he observed. Then she rang for her lady's maid, and, weak as she was, she dressed, in order to be ready for whatever might happen. The footman's mission was an easy one. Albert went to his room, and dressed with unusual care. At ten minutes to eight Beauchamp arrived; he had seen Château-Renaud, who had promised to be in the orchestra-stalls before the curtain was raised. Both got into Albert's coupé, who, having no reason to conceal where he was going, called aloud, "To the Opera." In his impatience, he arrived before the commencement of the performance.
Château-Renaud was at his post; apprised by Beauchamp of the circumstances, he required no explanation from Albert. The conduct of this son, seeking to avenge his father, was so natural, that Château-Renaud did not seek to dissuade him, and was content with renewing
