btless Albert was about to discuss
seriously his right to the academic chair when they were informed that
dinner was ready. Albert's love had not taken away his appetite. He
hastened with Franz to seat himself, free to recommence the discussion
after dinner. After dinner, the Count of Monte Cristo was announced.
They had not seen him for two days. Signor Pastrini informed them that
business had called him to Civita Vecchia. He had started the previous
evening, and had only returned an hour since. He was charming. Whether
he kept a watch over himself, or whether by accident he did not sound
the acrimonious chords that in other circumstances had been touched, he
was to-night like everybody else. The man was an enigma to Franz. The
count must feel sure that Franz recognized him; and yet he had not let
fall a single word indicating any previous acquaintance between them.
On his side, however great Franz's desire was to allude to their former
interview, the fear of being disagreeable to the man who had loaded him
and his friend with kindness prevented him from mentioning it. The
count had learned that the two friends had sent to secure a box at the
Argentina Theatre, and were told they were all let. In consequence, he
brought them the key of his own--at least such was the apparent motive
of his visit. Franz and Albert made some difficulty, alleging their fear
of depriving him of it; but the count replied that, as he was going to
the Palli Theatre, the box at the Argentina Theatre would be lost if
they did not profit by it. This assurance determined the two friends to
accept it.

Franz had by degrees become accustomed to the count's pallor, which had
so forcibly struck him at their first meeting. He could not refrain from
admiring the severe beauty of his features, the only defect, or rather
the principal quality of which was the pallor. Truly, a Byronic hero!
Franz could not, we will not say see him, but even think of him without
imagining his stern head upon Manfred's shoulders, or beneath Lara's
helmet. His forehead was marked with the line that indicates the
constant presence of bitter thoughts; he had the fiery eyes that seem
to penetrate to the very soul, and the haughty and disdainful upper lip
that gives to the words it utters a peculiar character that impresses
them on the minds of those to whom they are addressed. The count was no
longer young. He was at least forty; and yet it was easy to understand
that he was for