“No,” said the count, with an imperceptible smile of contempt, for he had no wish to be seen in the young man’s society,—“no; I prefer listening to you here, my dear M. Andrea; we can chat better in-doors, and there is no coachman to overhear our conversation.”
The count returned to a small drawing-room on the first floor, sat down, and crossing his legs motioned to the young man to take a seat also. Andrea assumed his gayest manner.
“You know, my dear count,” said he, “the ceremony is to take place this evening. At nine o’clock the contract is to be signed at my father-in-law’s.”
“Ah, indeed?” said Monte Cristo.
“What; is it news to you? Has not M. Danglars informed you of the ceremony?”
“Oh, yes,” said the count; “I received a letter from him yesterday, but I do not think the hour was mentioned.”
“Possibly my father-in-law trusted to its general notoriety.”
“Well,” said Monte Cristo, “you are fortunate, M. Cavalcanti; it is a most suitable alliance you are contracting, and Mademoiselle Danglars is a handsome girl.”
“Yes, indeed she is,” replied Cavalcanti, in a very modest tone.
“Above all, she is very rich,—at least, I believe so,” said Monte Cristo.
“Very rich, do you think?” replied the young man.
“Doubtless; it is said M. Danglars conceals at least half of his fortune.”
“And he acknowledges fifteen or twenty millions,” said Andrea with a look sparkling with joy.
“Without reckoning,” added Monte Cristo, “that he is on the eve of entering into a sort of speculation already in vogue in the United States and in England, but quite novel in France.”