returned into the salon, while the count, again apologizing, left
by another door. Albert, who was a great smoker, and who had
considered it no small sacrifice to be deprived of the cigars of
the Cafe de Paris, approached the table, and uttered a cry of joy
at perceiving some veritable puros.
"Well," asked Franz, "what think you of the Count of Monte
Cristo?"
"What do I think?" said Albert, evidently surprised at such a
question from his companion; "I think he is a delightful fellow,
who does the honors of his table admirably; who has travelled much,
read much, is, like Brutus, of the Stoic school, and moreover,"
added he, sending a volume of smoke up towards the ceiling, "that
he has excellent cigars." Such was Albert's opinion of the count,
and as Franz well knew that Albert professed never to form an
opinion except upon long reflection, he made no attempt to change
it. "But," said he, "did you observe one very singular thing?"
"What?"
"How attentively he looked at you."
"At me?"
"Yes." — Albert reflected. "Ah," replied he, sighing, "that is
not very surprising; I have been more than a year absent from
Paris, and my clothes are of a most antiquated cut; the count takes
me for a provincial. The first opportunity you have, undeceive him,
I beg, and tell him I am nothing of the kind." Franz smiled; an
instant after the count entered.
"I am now quite at your service, gentlemen," said he. "The
carriage is going one way to the Piazza del Popolo, and we will go
another; and, if you please, by the Corso. Take some more of these
cigars, M. de Morcerf."
"With all my heart," returned Albert; "Italian cigars are
horrible. When you come to Paris, I will return all this."
"I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you
allow me, I will pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time to
lose, it is half-past twelve — let us set off." All three
descended; the coachman received his master's orders, and drove
down the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked alongdown the Via del Babuino. While the three gentlemen walked along
the Piazza de Spagni and the Via Frattina, which led directly
between the Fiano and Rospoli palaces, Franz's attention was
directed towards the windows of that last palace, for he had not
forgotten the signal agreed upon between the man in the mantle and
the Transtevere peasant. "Which are your windows?" asked he of the
count, with as much indifference as he could assume. "The three
last," returned he, with a negligence evidently unaffected, for he
could not imagine with what intention the question was put. Franz
glanced rapidly towards the three windows. The side windows were
hung with yellow damask, and the centre one with white damask and a
red cross. The man in the mantle had kept his promise to the
Transteverin, and there could now be no doubt that he was the
count. The three windows were still untenanted. Preparations were
making on every side; chairs were placed, scaffolds were raised,
and windows were hung with flags. The masks could not appear; the
carriages could not move about; but the masks were visible behind
the windows, the carriages, and the doors.
Franz, Albert, and the count continued to descend the Corso. As
they approached the Piazza del Popolo, the crowd became more dense,
and above the heads of the multitude two objects were visible: the
obelisk, surmounted by a cross, which marks the centre of the
square, and in front of the obelisk, at the point where the three
streets, del Babuino, del Corso, and di Ripetta, meet, the two
uprights of the scaffold, between which glittered the curved knife
of the mandaia. At the corner of the street they met the count's
steward, who was awaiting his master. The window, let at an
exorbitant price, which the count had doubtless wished to conceal
from his guests, was on the second floor of the great palace,
situated between the Via del Babuino and the Monte Pincio. It
consisted, as we have said, of a small dressing-room, opening into
a bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, thea bedroom, and, when the door of communication was shut, the
inmates were quite alone. On chairs were laid elegant masquerade
costumes of blue and white satin. "As you left the choice of your
costumes to me," said the count to the two friends, "I have had
these brought, as they will be the most worn this year; and they
are most suitable, on account of the confetti (sweetmeats), as they
do not show the flour."
Franz heard the words of the count but imperfectly, and he
perhaps did not fully appreciate this new attention to their
wishes; for he was wholly absorbed by the spectacle that the Piazza
del Popolo presented, and by the terrible instrument that was in
the centre. It was the first time Franz had ever seen a guillotine,
— we say guillotine, because the Roman mandaia is formed on almost
the same model as the French instrument.* The knife, which is
shaped like a crescent, that cuts with the convex side, falls from
a less height, and that is all the difference. Two men, seated on
the movable plank on which the victim is laid, were eating their
breakfasts, while waiting for the criminal. Their repast consisted
apparently of bread and sausages. One of them lifted the plank,
took out a flask of wine, drank some, and then passed it to his
companion. These two men were the executioner's assistants. At this
sight Franz felt the perspiration start forth upon his brow. The
prisoners, transported the previous evening from the Carcere Nuovo
to the little church of Santa Maria del Popolo, had passed the
night, each accompanied by two priests, in a chapel closed by a
grating, before which were two sentinels, who were relieved at
intervals. A double line of carbineers, placed on each side of the
door of the church, reached to the scaffold, and formed a circle
around it, leaving a path about ten feet wide, and around the
guillotine a space of nearly a hundred feet. All the rest of the
square was paved with heads. Many women held their infants on their
shoulders, and thus the children had the best view. The Monte