ike one
of Goethe's heroes, with varnished shoes and white silk open-worked
stockings, passed a white and tolerably nice-looking hand through his
light hair, and so displayed a sparkling diamond, that in spite of Monte
Cristo's advice the vain young man had been unable to resist putting on
his little finger. This movement was accompanied by killing glances
at Mademoiselle Danglars, and by sighs launched in the same direction.
Mademoiselle Danglars was still the same--cold, beautiful, and
satirical. Not one of these glances, nor one sigh, was lost on her;
they might have been said to fall on the shield of Minerva, which some
philosophers assert protected sometimes the breast of Sappho. Eugenie
bowed coldly to the count, and availed herself of the first moment when
the conversation became earnest to escape to her study, whence very soon
two cheerful and noisy voices being heard in connection with occasional
notes of the piano assured Monte Cristo that Mademoiselle Danglars
preferred to his society and to that of M. Cavalcanti the company of
Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, her singing teacher.

It was then, especially while conversing with Madame Danglars, and
apparently absorbed by the charm of the conversation, that the count
noticed M. Andrea Cavalcanti's solicitude, his manner of listening
to the music at the door he dared not pass, and of manifesting his
admiration. The banker soon returned. His first look was certainly
directed towards Monte Cristo, but the second was for Andrea. As for his
wife, he bowed to her, as some husbands do to their wives, but in a way
that bachelors will never comprehend, until a very extensive code is
published on conjugal life.

"Have not the ladies invited you to join them at the piano?" said
Danglars to Andrea. "Alas, no, sir," replied Andrea with a sigh, still
more remarkable than the former ones. Danglars immediately advanced
towards the door and opened it.

The two young ladies were seen seated on the same chair, at the piano,
accompanying themselves, each with one hand, a fancy to which they had
accustomed themselves, and performed admirably. Mademoiselle d'Armilly,
whom they then perceived through the open doorway, formed with Eugenie
one of the tableaux vivants of which the Germans are so fond. She was
somewhat beautiful, and exquisitely formed--a little fairy-like figure,
with large curls falling on her neck, which was rather too long, as
Perugino sometimes makes his Virgins, a