hamber, but I
have something better to offer my readers than a speech of M. Danglars."

"For heaven's sake, Beauchamp," returned Morcerf, "do not deprive me of
the merit of introducing him everywhere. Is he not peculiar?"

"He is more than that," replied Chateau-Renaud; "he is one of the most
extraordinary men I ever saw in my life. Are you coming, Morrel?"

"Directly I have given my card to the count, who has promised to pay us
a visit at Rue Meslay, No. 14."

"Be sure I shall not fail to do so," returned the count, bowing. And
Maximilian Morrel left the room with the Baron de Chateau-Renaud,
leaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.

Chapter 41. The Presentation.

When Albert found himself alone with Monte Cristo, "My dear count,"
said he, "allow me to commence my services as cicerone by showing you
a specimen of a bachelor's apartment. You, who are accustomed to the
palaces of Italy, can amuse yourself by calculating in how many square
feet a young man who is not the worst lodged in Paris can live. As
we pass from one room to another, I will open the windows to let you
breathe." Monte Cristo had already seen the breakfast-room and the salon
on the ground-floor. Albert led him first to his atelier, which was, as
we have said, his favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated
all that Albert had collected here--old cabinets, Japanese porcelain,
Oriental stuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all parts of the
world--everything was familiar to him; and at the first glance he
recognized their date, their country, and their origin. Morcerf had
expected he should be the guide; on the contrary, it was he who, under
the count's guidance, followed a course of archaeology, mineralogy, and
natural history. They descended to the first floor; Albert led his guest
into the salon. The salon was filled with the works of modern artists;
there were landscapes by Dupre, with their long reeds and tall trees,
their lowing oxen and marvellous skies; Delacroix's Arabian cavaliers,
with their long white burnouses, their shining belts, their damasked
arms, their horses, who tore each other with their teeth while their
riders contended fiercely with their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger,
representing Notre Dame de Paris with that vigor that makes the artist
the rival of the poet; there were paintings by Diaz, who makes his
flowers more beautiful than flowers, his suns more brilliant than the
sun; designs by Decamp, as vividly colored