“Well, M. de Morcerf and I have talked about this marriage, but Madame de Morcerf and Albert——”
“You do not mean to say that it would not be a good match?”
“Indeed, I imagine that Mademoiselle Danglars is as good as M. de Morcerf.”
“Mademoiselle Danglars’ fortune will be great, no doubt, especially if the telegraph should not make any more mistakes.”
“Oh, I do not mean her fortune only; but tell me——”
“What?”
“Why did you not invite M. and Madame de Morcerf to your dinner?”
“I did so, but he excused himself on account of Madame de Morcerf being obliged to go to Dieppe for the benefit of sea air.”
“Yes, yes,” said Danglars, laughing, “it would do her a great deal of good.”
“Why so?”
“Because it is the air she always breathed in her youth.”
Monte Cristo took no notice of this ill-natured remark.
“But still, if Albert be not so rich as Mademoiselle Danglars,” said the count, “you must allow that he has a fine name?”
“So he has; but I like mine as well.”
“Certainly; your name is popular, and does honor to the title they have adorned it with; but you are too intelligent not to know that according to a prejudice, too firmly rooted to be exterminated, a nobility which dates back five centuries is worth more than one that can only reckon twenty years.”
“And for this very reason,” said Danglars with a smile, which he tried to make sardonic, “I prefer M. Andrea Cavalcanti to M. Albert de Morcerf.”