"Besides what?" asked the count.
"Alas! do you not know!"
"What new calamity?"
"My daughter———"
"Mademoiselle Danglars?"
"Eugénie has left us!"
"Good heavens! what are you telling me?"
"The truth, my dear count. Oh, how happy you must be in not having either wife or children!"
"Do you think so?"
"Indeed I do."
"And so Mademoiselle Danglars———"
"She could not endure the insult offered to us by that wretch, so she asked permission to travel."
"And is she gone?"
"The other night she left."
"With Madame Danglars!"
"No, with a relation. But still, we have quite lost our dear Eugénie; for I doubt whether her pride will ever allow her to return to France."
"Still, baron," said Monte-Cristo, "family griefs, or indeed any other affliction which would crush a man whose child was his only treasure, are endurable to a millionaire. It is all very well for philosophers to say, but practical men will always deny the opinion, that money mitigates many trials; and if you admit the efficacy of this sovereign balm, you ought to be very easily consoled; you, the king of finance, who form the intersecting point of all the powers!"
Danglars looked at him obliquely, as though to ascertain whether he spoke seriously.
"Yes," he answered, "if a fortune brings consolation, I ought to be consoled; I am rich."
"So rich, dear sir, that your fortune resembles the Pyramids; if you wished to demolish them, you dared not; if you dared you could not."
Danglars smiled at the good-natured pleasantry of the count. "That reminds me," he said, "that when you entered I was on the point of signing five little bonds; I have already signed two, will you allow me to do the same to the others?"
"Pray do so."
There was a moment's silence, during which the noise of the banker's pen was alone heard, while Monte-Cristo examined the gilt moldings on the ceiling.
"Are they Spanish, Haitian, or Neapolitan bonds?" said Monte-Cristo.
"Neither," said Danglars, smiling, "they are bonds on the Bank of France, payable to bearer. Stay," he added, "count, you, who may be
