World Literature Classics Library: The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 130 Bread and Salt
Madame Mocerf and Monte Cristo came together to the arcade of the arbor, which is actually a path lined with linden trees and in front of a greenhouse.

"It's too hot in the drawing-room, isn't it, Monsieur Count?" said Lady Mocerf.

"Yes, Madame, you were very thoughtful in opening both the door and the shutter," said the count, when Mercedes' hands trembled. "But you, this skirt is too thin, and there is only such a thin gauze scarf around your neck, maybe you feel a little cold?" He continued.

"Do you know where I am taking you?" said the countess, without answering Monte Cristo's question.

"I don't know, Madame," replied Monte Cristo; "but, you see, I am entirely at your disposal."

"Let's go to the greenhouse. You see, it's over there, just in front of the path we're walking on now."

The count looked at Mercedes as if he wanted to ask a question, but Mercedes went on in silence, and Monte Cristo said nothing.The two entered the flower room, which was full of colorful fruits.France often does not see the sun, so the temperature of the greenhouse is artificially adjusted all year round to make up for the lack of sunshine. As soon as July enters, the fruits inside begin to ripen gradually.The countess let go of Monte Cristo's arm and picked a bunch of muscat grapes from a vine. "You see, Monsieur Comte," she said, with a faint smile on her face, but so sadly that you could almost see tears welling up in her eyes, "take it, please, I know that our French grapes are not as good as yours. Grapes from Sicily or Cyprus, but you will not be too hard on our poor sunshine in the north." The count bowed and took a step back. "Would you not?" said Mercedes, her voice trembling.

"Madame," replied Monte Cristo, "I have never eaten muscats, and I implore you to be tolerant."

Mercedes sighed and dropped the grapes in her hands to the ground.A delicious peach is hanging on the peach tree next to the wall. Like the bunch of grapes just now, it is also ripened by the artificially adjusted temperature in the greenhouse.Mercedes went over and plucked the fluffy fruit. "Taste this peach, then," she said.But the Count declined again, as before. "Oh, I still don't want to!" Mercedes's voice was so sad that one could not help but feel that she was suppressing a sob. She said reluctantly, "Really, I am too unfortunate." Then there was a long silence, Like the grapes just now, this peach also rolled down to the sandy soil. "Monsieur," continued Mercedes, looking entreatingly at Monte Cristo, "there is a very touching custom in Arabia that those who share bread and salt under the same roof are forever friends."

"I know the custom, madame," said the count, "but we are in France, not in Arabia, and there is no French custom of sharing bread and salt, and no permanent friendship."

"But, after all," said the countess, looking intently into Monte Cristo's eyes, and holding his arm almost convulsively, "we are friends, aren't we?"

The blood all over his body rushed to his heart at once, and the count's face turned ashen immediately, and then the blood rushed from his heart to his throat and rushed to his cheeks. For a moment, his eyes were blank, as if he was dizzy. "Of course we are friends, ma'am," he replied, "and why aren't we friends?"

Such a tone was far from what Mrs. Moserf expected to hear. She turned her head away and sighed like a moan. "Thank you," she said.Then she walked on again, and they walked round the garden in silence. "Sir," said the countess suddenly after ten minutes of walking like this, "have you really seen a lot, traveled a lot, and suffered a lot?"

"I have suffered greatly, yes, Madame," replied Monte Cristo.

"Are you happy now?"

"Perhaps," said the count, "for no one heard me lament."

"Does your present happiness make your heart kinder?"

"My present happiness is equal to my former misery," said the count.

"Aren't you married?" asked the countess.

"I am married?" said Monte Cristo, shuddering. "Who told you?"

"No one told me, but you have been seen several times going to the opera with a young and beautiful woman."

"This is a slave girl I bought in Constantinople, ma'am. She used to be a lady, and I recognize her as my daughter. It just so happens that I have no relatives in this world."

"So you're single?"

"I'm single."

"Have you no sister... no son... no father?"

"I have no relatives."

"You don't love anything in life, so how do you live?"

"It's not my fault, ma'am. When I was in Malta, I fell in love with a girl, and just as I was about to marry her, the war came and swept me away from her like a whirlwind. I thought She loves me very much and will wait for me, even if I die, she will be faithful. By the time I come back, she is already married. People over 20 have this experience, my heart is weaker than others, and I feel It's sad, but it wouldn't be so sad if it were someone else, and that's exactly what happened."

The countess paused for a moment, as if she needed to slow down a little to catch her breath. "Yes," she said, "so this love has always been buried deep in your heart... There is only one love in a person's life... You never saw the girl again?"

"no more."

"no more!"

"I didn't go to the country where she lived again."

"Malta?"

"Yes, Malta."

"So, she's in Malta?"

"I suppose so."

"Would you forgive her for the pain she caused you?"

"For her personally, I forgive her."

"But forgive her alone, and you always hate those who separate you from her?" The Countess stood before Monte Cristo, still holding a few fragrant grapes. "Try it, please," she said.

"I never eat muscats, madame," replied Monte Cristo, as if the two of them could never talk about eating together.

The Countess was so desperate that she threw the remaining bunch of grapes into a nearby bush. "Sturdy as a rock!" she murmured.

Monte Cristo remained impassive, as if the reproach had not been addressed to him.At this moment, Albert hurried over.

"Oh, mother!" said he, "what a pity!"

"What? What's the matter?" said the count, rising up as if waking from a great dream. "What misfortune do you mean? Yes, something must have happened."

"M. de Villefort is here."

"how?"

"He came to see Madame and Mademoiselle de Villefort."

"Is there a problem?"

"The Marchioness of Saint-Meran had just arrived in Paris and brought a piece of bad news, saying that M. Saint-Meran had just arrived at the first post station after leaving Marseilles. Madame de Villefort was in the mood, and she didn't understand such a disaster for a while, and she couldn't understand it. She would not believe it, but Mademoiselle Valentine, in spite of her father's eloquence, guessed everything at once. The shock hit her like a bolt from the blue, and she was so heartbroken that she fainted."

"Who is M. de Saint-Meran to Mlle de Villefort?" asked the count.

"It was her grandfather. The old man wanted to urge his granddaughter to marry Franz."

"Ah, so it is!"

"I can't take care of Franz now. Why isn't Mr. Saint-Méran also Miss Tanglar's grandfather?"

"Albert! Albert!" Madame Mercerf reproached mildly. "What nonsense are you talking about? Oh, Monsieur Count, he respects you very much. Tell him he is wrong."

She took a few steps forward.Monte Cristo looked at her with such strange eyes, so bewildered, and full of admiration that Mercedes drew back involuntarily.As she took Monte Cristo's hand, she took her son's hand tightly and put their two hands together. "We are friends, aren't we?" she said.

"Ah! I dare not hope, my friend, madame," said the count; "and after all, I shall be your obedient servant."

The countess left alone with indescribable sadness, and she had not gone ten paces when the count saw her wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Is it because my mother and you are not speculating a little?" Albert asked in surprise.

"On the contrary," replied the count; "didn't she just say to you that we are friends?"

They both then returned to the drawing-room, where Valentine, M. and Madame de Villefort had just left.It is needless to say that as soon as they left, Morrel took his leave.

(End of this chapter)