“In conjunction with the affairs of Ali Pasha?”
“Exactly so.”
“This is the mystery,” said Danglars. “I acknowledge I would have given anything to find it out.”
“It would be very easy if you much wished it?”
“How so?”
“Probably you have some correspondent in Greece?”
“I should think so.”
“At Yanina?”
“Everywhere.”
“Well, write to your correspondent in Yanina, and ask him what part was played by a Frenchman named Fernand Mondego in the catastrophe of Ali Tepelini.”
“You are right,” exclaimed Danglars, rising quickly, “I will write today.”
“Do so.”
“I will.”
“And if you should hear of anything very scandalous——”
“I will communicate it to you.”
“You will oblige me.”
Danglars rushed out of the room, and made but one leap into his coupé.
Chapter 68. A Summer Ball
The same day during the interview between Madame Danglars and the procureur, a travelling-carriage entered the Rue du Helder, passed through the gateway of No. 27, and stopped in the yard. In a moment the door was opened, and Madame de Morcerf alighted, leaning on her son’s arm. Albert soon left her, ordered his horses, and having arranged his toilet, drove to the Champs-Élysées, to the house of Monte Cristo.
The count received him with his habitual smile. It was a strange thing that no one ever appeared to advance a step in that man’s favor. Those who would, as it were, force a passage to his heart, found an impassable barrier. Morcerf, who ran towards him with open arms, was chilled as he drew near, in spite of the friendly smile, and simply held out his hand. Monte Cristo shook it coldly, according to his invariable practice.