“What,” said Debray, laughing; “do you really mean you would go to his house?”
“Why not? my husband could accompany me.”
“But do you know this mysterious count is a bachelor?”
“You have ample proof to the contrary, if you look opposite,” said the baroness, as she laughingly pointed to the beautiful Greek.
“No, no!” exclaimed Debray; “that girl is not his wife: he told us himself she was his slave. Do you not recollect, Morcerf, his telling us so at your breakfast?”
“Well, then,” said the baroness, “if slave she be, she has all the air and manner of a princess.”
“Of the ‘Arabian Nights’.”
“If you like; but tell me, my dear Lucien, what it is that constitutes a princess. Why, diamonds—and she is covered with them.”
“To me she seems overloaded,” observed Eugénie; “she would look far better if she wore fewer, and we should then be able to see her finely formed throat and wrists.”
“See how the artist peeps out!” exclaimed Madame Danglars. “My poor Eugénie, you must conceal your passion for the fine arts.”
“I admire all that is beautiful,” returned the young lady.
“What do you think of the count?” inquired Debray; “he is not much amiss, according to my ideas of good looks.”
“The count,” repeated Eugénie, as though it had not occurred to her to observe him sooner; “the count?—oh, he is so dreadfully pale.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Morcerf; “and the secret of that very pallor is what we want to find out. The Countess G—— insists upon it that he is a vampire.”