ularly, and by a look asked the banker for
an explanation. "I have just received my courier from Greece," said
Danglars.

"Ah, yes," said the count; "that was the reason of your running away
from us."

"Yes."

"How is King Otho getting on?" asked Albert in the most sprightly tone.
Danglars cast another suspicious look towards him without answering, and
Monte Cristo turned away to conceal the expression of pity which
passed over his features, but which was gone in a moment. "We shall go
together, shall we not?" said Albert to the count.

"If you like," replied the latter. Albert could not understand
the banker's look, and turning to Monte Cristo, who understood it
perfectly,--"Did you see," said he, "how he looked at me?"

"Yes," said the count; "but did you think there was anything particular
in his look?"

"Indeed, I did; and what does he mean by his news from Greece?"

"How can I tell you?"

"Because I imagine you have correspondents in that country." Monte
Cristo smiled significantly.

"Stop," said Albert, "here he comes. I shall compliment Mademoiselle
Danglars on her cameo, while the father talks to you."

"If you compliment her at all, let it be on her voice, at least," said
Monte Cristo.

"No, every one would do that."

"My dear viscount, you are dreadfully impertinent." Albert advanced
towards Eugenie, smiling. Meanwhile, Danglars, stooping to Monte
Cristo's ear, "Your advice was excellent," said he; "there is a whole
history connected with the names Fernand and Yanina."

"Indeed?" said Monte Cristo.

"Yes, I will tell you all; but take away the young man; I cannot endure
his presence."

"He is going with me. Shall I send the father to you?"

"Immediately."

"Very well." The count made a sign to Albert and they bowed to
the ladies, and took their leave, Albert perfectly indifferent to
Mademoiselle Danglars' contempt, Monte Cristo reiterating his advice
to Madame Danglars on the prudence a banker's wife should exercise in
providing for the future. M. Cavalcanti remained master of the field.

Chapter 77. Haidee.

Scarcely had the count's horses cleared the angle of the boulevard,
than Albert, turning towards the count, burst into a loud fit of
laughter--much too loud in fact not to give the idea of its being rather
forced and unnatural. "Well," said he, "I will ask you the same question
which Charles IX. put to Catherine de Medicis, after the massacre of
Saint Bartholomew, 'How have