“Edward, you naughty boy,” exclaimed Madame de Villefort, snatching the mutilated book from the urchin’s grasp, “you are positively past bearing; you really disturb the conversation; go, leave us, and join your sister Valentine in dear grandpapa Noirtier’s room.”
“The album,” said Edward sulkily.
“What do you mean?—the album!”
“I want the album.”
“How dare you tear out the drawings?”
“Oh, it amuses me.”
“Go—go at once.”
“I won’t go unless you give me the album,” said the boy, seating himself doggedly in an armchair, according to his habit of never giving way.
“Take it, then, and pray disturb us no longer,” said Madame de Villefort, giving the album to Edward, who then went towards the door, led by his mother. The count followed her with his eyes.
“Let us see if she shuts the door after him,” he muttered.
Madame de Villefort closed the door carefully after the child, the count appearing not to notice her; then casting a scrutinizing glance around the chamber, the young wife returned to her chair, in which she seated herself.
“Allow me to observe, madame,” said the count, with that kind tone he could assume so well, “you are really very severe with that dear clever child.”
“Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary,” replied Madame de Villefort, with all a mother’s real firmness.
“It was his Cornelius Nepos that Master Edward was repeating when he referred to King Mithridates,” continued the count, “and you interrupted him in a quotation which proves that his tutor has by no means neglected him, for your son is really advanced for his years.”