“What is your sister Valentine doing?” inquired Madame de Villefort of Edward; “tell someone to bid her come here, that I may have the honor of introducing her to the count.”
“You have a daughter, then, madame?” inquired the count; “very young, I presume?”
“The daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage,” replied the young wife, “a fine well-grown girl.”
“But melancholy,” interrupted Master Edward, snatching the feathers out of the tail of a splendid paroquet that was screaming on its gilded perch, in order to make a plume for his hat.
Madame de Villefort merely cried, “Be still, Edward!” She then added, “This young madcap is, however, very nearly right, and merely re-echoes what he has heard me say with pain a hundred times; for Mademoiselle de Villefort is, in spite of all we can do to rouse her, of a melancholy disposition and taciturn habit, which frequently injure the effect of her beauty. But what detains her? Go, Edward, and see.”
“Because they are looking for her where she is not to be found.”
“And where are they looking for her?”
“With grandpapa Noirtier.”
“And do you think she is not there?”
“No, no, no, no, no, she is not there,” replied Edward, singing his words.
“And where is she, then? If you know, why don’t you tell?”
“She is under the big chestnut-tree,” replied the spoiled brat, as he gave, in spite of his mother’s commands, live flies to the parrot, which seemed keenly to relish such fare.