"But, monsieur,"

　　"But, monsieur," said the Count of Morcerf, "for a man ofyour merit, Italy is not a country, and France opens herarms to receive you; respond to her call. France will not,perhaps, be always ungrateful. She treats her children ill,but she always welcomes strangers."

　　"Ah, father," said Albert with a smile, "it is evident youdo not know the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises allhonors, and contents himself with those written on hispassport."

　　"That is the most just remark," replied the stranger, "Iever heard made concerning myself."

　　"You have been free to choose your career," observed theCount of Morcerf, with a sigh; "and you have chosen the pathstrewed with flowers."

　　"Precisely, monsieur," replied Monte Cristo with one ofthose smiles that a painter could never represent or aphysiologist analyze.

　　"If I did not fear to fatigue you," said the general,evidently charmed with the count's manners, "I would havetaken you to the Chamber; there is a debate very curious tothose who are strangers to our modern senators."

　　"I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at somefuture time, renew your offer, but I have been flatteredwith the hope of being introduced to the countess, and Iwill therefore wait."

　　"Ah, here is my mother," cried the viscount. Monte Cristo,turned round hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at theentrance of the salon, at the door opposite to that by whichher husband had entered, pale and motionless; when MonteCristo turned round, she let fall her arm, which for someunknown reason had been resting on the gilded door-post. Shehad been there some moments, and had heard the last words ofthe visitor. The latter rose and bowed to the countess, whoinclined herself without speaking. "Ah, good heavens,madame," said the count, "are you ill, or is it the heat ofthe room that affects you?"

　　"Are you ill, mother?" cried the viscount, springing towardsher.