“Is the baroness at home?” inquired Danglars.
“Yes, my lord,” answered the man.
“And alone?”
“No, my lord, madame has visitors.”
“Have you any objection to meet any persons who may be with madame, or do you desire to preserve a strict incognito?”
“No, indeed,” replied Monte Cristo with a smile, “I do not arrogate to myself the right of so doing.”
“And who is with madame?—M. Debray?” inquired Danglars, with an air of indulgence and good-nature that made Monte Cristo smile, acquainted as he was with the secrets of the banker’s domestic life.
“Yes, my lord,” replied the servant, “M. Debray is with madame.”
Danglars nodded his head; then, turning to Monte Cristo, said, “M. Lucien Debray is an old friend of ours, and private secretary to the Minister of the Interior. As for my wife, I must tell you, she lowered herself by marrying me, for she belongs to one of the most ancient families in France. Her maiden name was De Servières, and her first husband was Colonel the Marquis of Nargonne.”
“I have not the honor of knowing Madame Danglars; but I have already met M. Lucien Debray.”
“Ah, indeed?” said Danglars; “and where was that?”
“At the house of M. de Morcerf.”
“Ah! you are acquainted with the young viscount, are you?”
“We were together a good deal during the Carnival at Rome.”
“True, true,” cried Danglars. “Let me see; have I not heard talk of some strange adventure with bandits or thieves hid in ruins, and of his having had a miraculous escape? I forget how, but I know he used to amuse my wife and daughter by telling them about it after his return from Italy.”