"He? oh, no! he has plunged a thousand daggers into my heart; tragedy-weapons, I own, which, instead of wounding, sheathe their points in their own handles, but daggers which he nevertheless believed to be real and deadly."
"Jealousy indicates affection."
"True; but I am not jealous."
"He is."
"Of whom?―of Debray?"
"No, of you."
"Of me? I will engage to say that before a week is past the door will be closed against me."
"You are mistaken, my dear viscount."
"Prove it to me."
"Do you wish me to do so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce M. le Comte de Morcerf to make some definite arrangement with the baron."
"By whom are you charged?"
"By the baron himself."
"Oh!" said Albert, with all the cajolery of which he was capable, "you surely will not do that, my dear count."
"Certainly I shall, Albert, as I have promised to do it."
"Well," said Albert, with a sigh, "it seems you are determined to marry me."
"I am determined to try and be on good terms with everybody, at all events," said Monte-Cristo. "But apropos of Debray, how is it that I have not seen him lately at the baron's house?"
"There has been a misunderstanding."
"What, with the baroness?"
"No, with the baron."
"Has he perceived anything?"
"Ah! that is a good joke!"
"Do you think he suspects?" said Monte-Cristo, with a charming naïveté.
"Where have you come from, my dear count?" said Albert.
"From Congo, if you will."
"It must be farther off than even that."
"But what do I know of your Parisian husbands?"
"Oh! my dear count, husbands are pretty much the same everywhere; an individual of any country is a fair specimen of the race."
