“Excuse me,” said Morcerf, “but is it a play we are acting?”
“A play?”
“Yes, for it is like one; pray let us come more to the point, and endeavor thoroughly to understand each other.”
“That is quite my desire.”
“You have seen M. de Monte Cristo have you not?”
“I see him very often,” said Danglars, drawing himself up; “he is a particular friend of mine.”
“Well, in one of your late conversations with him, you said that I appeared to be forgetful and irresolute concerning this marriage, did you not?”
“I did say so.”
“Well, here I am, proving at once that I am really neither the one nor the other, by entreating you to keep your promise on that score.”
Danglars did not answer.
“Have you so soon changed your mind,” added Morcerf, “or have you only provoked my request that you may have the pleasure of seeing me humbled?”
Danglars, seeing that if he continued the conversation in the same tone in which he had begun it, the whole thing might turn out to his own disadvantage, turned to Morcerf, and said:
“Count, you must doubtless be surprised at my reserve, and I assure you it costs me much to act in such a manner towards you; but, believe me when I say that imperative necessity has imposed the painful task upon me.”
“These are all so many empty words, my dear sir,” said Morcerf: “they might satisfy a new acquaintance, but the Comte de Morcerf does not rank in that list; and when a man like him comes to another, recalls to him his plighted word, and this man fails to redeem the pledge, he has at least a right to exact from him a good reason for so doing.”