It is the truth

　　"That is possible," said the countess, reflecting.

　　"Never mind," continued the young man, "smuggler or not, youmust agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that theCount of Monte Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have thegreatest success in the salons of Paris. Why, this verymorning, in my rooms, he made his entree amongst us bystriking every man of us with amazement, not even exceptingChateau-Renaud."

　　"And what do you suppose is the count's age?" inquiredMercedes, evidently attaching great importance to thisquestion.

　　"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."

　　"So young, -- it is impossible," said Mercedes, replying atthe same time to what Albert said as well as to her ownprivate reflection.

　　"It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has saidto me, and certainly without the slightest premeditation,`at such a period I was five years old, at another ten yearsold, at another twelve,' and I, induced by curiosity, whichkept me alive to these details, have compared the dates, andnever found him inaccurate. The age of this singular man,who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five.Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-blackhis hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free fromwrinkles, -- he is not only vigorous, but also young." Thecountess bent her head, as if beneath a heavy wave of bitterthoughts. "And has this man displayed a friendship for you,Albert?" she asked with a nervous shudder.

　　"I am inclined to think so."

　　"And -- do -- you -- like -- him?"

　　"Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries toconvince me that he is a being returned from the otherworld." The countess shuddered. "Albert," she said, in avoice which was altered by emotion, "I have always put youon your guard against new acquaintances. Now you are a man,and are able to give me advice; yet I repeat to you, Albert,be prudent."

　　"Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make youradvice turn to account, that I should know beforehand what Ihave to distrust. The count never plays, he only drinks purewater tinged with a little sherry, and is so rich that hecannot, without intending to laugh at me, try to borrowmoney. What, then, have I to fear from him?"

　　"You are right," said the countess, "and my fears areweakness, especially when directed against a man who hassaved your life. How did your father receive him, Albert? Itis necessary that we should be more than complaisant to thecount. M. de Morcerf is sometimes occupied, his businessmakes him reflective, and he might, without intending it" --