m my father and myself."

"Did your father speak of it?" inquired Mercedes eagerly.

"No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the fact to you?"

"Yes, I do remember," replied the countess. A servant entered, summoned
by Albert's ring of the bell. "Take these flowers into the anteroom or
dressing-room," said the viscount; "they make the countess ill." The
footman obeyed his orders. A long pause ensued, which lasted until all
the flowers were removed. "What is this name of Monte Cristo?" inquired
the countess, when the servant had taken away the last vase of flowers,
"is it a family name, or the name of the estate, or a simple title?"

"I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count purchased an island
in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he told you to-day, has founded
a commandery. You know the same thing was done for Saint Stephen of
Florence, Saint George, Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order
of Malta. Except this, he has no pretension to nobility, and calls
himself a chance count, although the general opinion at Rome is that the
count is a man of very high distinction."

"His manners are admirable," said the countess, "at least, as far as I
could judge in the few minutes he remained here."

"They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by far all I
have known in the leading aristocracy of the three proudest nobilities
of Europe--the English, the Spanish, and the German." The countess
paused a moment; then, after a slight hesitation, she resumed,--"You
have seen, my dear Albert--I ask the question as a mother--you have
seen M. de Monte Cristo in his house, you are quicksighted, have much
knowledge of the world, more tact than is usual at your age, do you
think the count is really what he appears to be?"

"What does he appear to be?"

"Why, you have just said,--a man of high distinction."

"I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such."

"But what is your own opinion, Albert?"

"I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion respecting
him, but I think him a Maltese."

"I do not ask you of his origin but what he is."

"Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so many
remarkable things in him, that if you would have me really say what I
think, I shall reply that I really do look upon him as one of Byron's
heroes, whom misery has marked with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some
Lara, some Werner, one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancien