“And how was M. de Saint-Méran related to Mademoiselle de Villefort?” said the count.
“He was her grandfather on the mother’s side. He was coming here to hasten her marriage with Franz.”
“Ah, indeed!”
“So Franz must wait. Why was not M. de Saint-Méran also grandfather to Mademoiselle Danglars?”
“Albert, Albert,” said Madame de Morcerf, in a tone of mild reproof, “what are you saying? Ah, count, he esteems you so highly, tell him that he has spoken amiss.”
And she took two or three steps forward. Monte Cristo watched her with an air so thoughtful, and so full of affectionate admiration, that she turned back and grasped his hand; at the same time she seized that of her son, and joined them together.
“We are friends; are we not?” she asked.
“Oh, madame, I do not presume to call myself your friend, but at all times I am your most respectful servant.” The countess left with an indescribable pang in her heart, and before she had taken ten steps the count saw her raise her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Do not my mother and you agree?” asked Albert, astonished.
“On the contrary,” replied the count, “did you not hear her declare that we were friends?”
They re-entered the drawing-room, which Valentine and Madame de Villefort had just quitted. It is perhaps needless to add that Morrel departed almost at the same time.
Chapter 72. Madame de Saint-Méran
A gloomy scene had indeed just passed at the house of M. de Villefort. After the ladies had departed for the ball, whither all the entreaties of Madame de Villefort had failed in persuading him to accompany them, the procureur had shut himself up in his study, according to his custom, with a heap of papers calculated to alarm anyone else, but which generally scarcely satisfied his inordinate desires.