Monte-Cristos Daughter | Page 2

full ruby lips and feet and hands that were of fairylike
diminutiveness, as well as miracles of grace and dainty shapeliness. In
temperament she was more like Haydée than the Count, though she
possessed her father's quick decision and firmness, with the addition of
much of his enthusiasm.
The Palazzo Costi was magnificently furnished, so the Count had made
no alterations in that respect, bringing with him only the family
wardrobe and a portion of his library, consisting mainly of oriental
manuscripts written in weird, cabalistic characters and intelligible to no
one but himself.
The household was made up solely of the Count, his son Espérance,[2]
his daughter Zuleika, the faithful Nubian mute Ali and five or six male

and female domestics. Having no other object than his daughter's
education, the Count wished to live in as thorough retirement as he
could, but it was impossible for him to keep his presence a secret, and
no sooner had it become known that he was in Rome than he was
besieged by hosts of callers belonging to the highest nobility, mingled
with whom came numerous patriots, disciples of the unfortunate
Savonarola, distinguished for their firm devotion to the cause of Italian
liberty.
At an early hour of the morning upon which this narrative opens the
Count of Monte-Cristo sat alone in a small apartment of the Palazzo
Costi, which had been arranged as his study and in which his precious
manuscripts were stored in closely locked cabinets. The Count had a
copy of a Roman newspaper before him, and his eyes were fixed on a
paragraph that seemed to have fascinated him as the serpent fascinates
the bird. The paragraph read as follows:
"Mlle. Louise d' Armilly, the famous prima donna, who will sing
to-night at the Apollo Theatre her great rôle of Lucrezia Borgia, has, it
appears, a deep impenetrable mystery surrounding her. She is French
by birth, and is said to be the daughter of a banker, who vanished under
peculiar circumstances, but, as she positively declines to speak of her
history, we can only give the rumors concerning her for what they are
worth. M. Léon d' Armilly, brother of the prima donna, who supports
her in Donizetti's opera, also refuses to be communicative. At any rate,
the mere hint of the mystery has already caused quite a flutter of
excitement in high society circles and that is sufficient to insure a
crowded house."
"Louise d' Armilly!" murmured the Count, half-audibly. "The name is
familiar, certainly, though where I have seen or heard it before I cannot
now recall. The lady is French by birth, the paper says, and that fact, at
least, is a sufficient pretext for me to visit her. I will call on her as a
fellow countryman, and the interview will demonstrate if she is known
to me."
The Count arose, went to his desk and, seating himself there, wrote the
following brief epistle:

"Edmond Dantès,[3] Count of Monte-Cristo, desires permission to call
upon Mlle. Louise d' Armilly at ten o'clock this morning. In this desire
M. Dantès is actuated solely by the wish to lay the homage of a
Frenchman at the feet of so distinguished an artiste of his own nation as
Mlle. d' Armilly."
Having finished, sealed and addressed this note, the Count touched a
bell which was immediately answered by the ever-watchful Nubian.
"Ali," said the Count, in the Arabic tongue, "take this letter to the Hôtel
de France and wait for a reply."
The faithful servant bowed almost to the floor, took the missive and
departed. When he had gone, the Count walked the apartment with the
long strides habitual to him at such times as he was engrossed by some
all-powerful thought.
"Surely," he muttered, "this artiste can in no way interest me personally,
and yet I feel a subtile premonition that it would be wise in me to see
her."
He was still pacing the study when Ali returned. The Nubian's usually
impassible face bore traces of excitement and horror. He prostrated
himself at his master's feet and, with his visage pressed against the
floor, held up his hand, presenting to the Count the identical letter of
which he had been the bearer.
"Why, how is this, Ali?" asked the Count, frowning. "My letter sent
back without an answer. The seal has been broken, too. It must have
been read."
The mute slowly arose and began an eloquent pantomime which his
master readily translated into words: "You went to the Hôtel de France
and sent up the letter. In ten minutes it was returned to you by the lady's
valet, who said all the answer the Count of Monte-Cristo deserved from
his mistress was written on the back."
Ali nodded his head in confirmation of his master's translation, looking

as