mysterious meeting in the Colosseum he had so unintentionally
witnessed, was an entire stranger to him, but not so the other; and
though Franz had been unable to distinguish his features, from his
being either wrapped in his mantle or obscured by the shadow, the
tones of his voice had made too powerful an impression on him the
first time he had heard them for him ever again to forget them,
hear them when or where he might. It was more especially when this
man was speaking in a manner half jesting, half bitter, that
Franz's ear recalled most vividly the deep sonorous, yet
well-pitched voice that had addressed him in the grotto of Monte
Cristo, and which he heard for the second time amid the darkness
and ruined grandeur of the Colosseum. And the more he thought, the
more entire was his conviction, that the person who wore the mantle
was no other than his former host and entertainer, "Sinbad the
Sailor."
Under any other circumstances, Franz would have found it
impossible to resist his extreme curiosity to know more of so
singular a personage, and with that intent have sought to renew
their short acquaintance; but in the present instance, the
confidential nature of the conversation he had overheard made him,
with propriety, judge that his appearance at such a time would be
anything but agreeable. As we have seen, therefore, he permitted
his former host to retire without attempting a recognition, but
fully promising himself a rich indemnity for his present
forbearance should chance afford him another opportunity. In vain
did Franz endeavor to forget the many perplexing thoughts which
assailed him; in vain did he court the refreshment of sleep.
Slumber refused to visit his eyelids and the night was passed in
feverish contemplation of the chain of circumstances tending to
prove the identity of the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum with
the inhabitant of the grotto of Monte Cristo; and the more he
thought, the firmer grew his opinion on the subject. Worn out atthought, the firmer grew his opinion on the subject. Worn out at
length, he fell asleep at daybreak, and did not awake till late.
Like a genuine Frenchman, Albert had employed his time in arranging
for the evening's diversion; he had sent to engage a box at the
Teatro Argentino; and Franz, having a number of letters to write,
relinquished the carriage to Albert for the whole of the day. At
five o'clock Albert returned, delighted with his day's work; he had
been occupied in leaving his letters of introduction, and had
received in return more invitations to balls and routs than it
would be possible for him to accept; besides this, he had seen (as
he called it) all the remarkable sights at Rome. Yes, in a single
day he had accomplished what his more serious-minded companion
would have taken weeks to effect. Neither had he neglected to
ascertain the name of the piece to be played that night at the
Teatro Argentino, and also what performers appeared in it.
The opera of "Parisina" was announced for representation, and
the principal actors were Coselli, Moriani, and La Specchia. The
young men, therefore, had reason to consider themselves fortunate
in having the opportunity of hearing one of the best works by the
composer of "Lucia di Lammermoor," supported by three of the most
renowned vocalists of Italy. Albert had never been able to endure
the Italian theatres, with their orchestras from which it is
impossible to see, and the absence of balconies, or open boxes; all
these defects pressed hard on a man who had had his stall at the
Bouffes, and had shared a lower box at the Opera. Still, in spite
of this, Albert displayed his most dazzling and effective costumes
each time he visited the theatres; but, alas, his elegant toilet
was wholly thrown away, and one of the most worthy representatives
of Parisian fashion had to carry with him the mortifying reflection
that he had nearly overrun Italy without meeting with a single
adventure.
Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want ofadventure.
Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of
success; but internally he was deeply wounded, and his self-love
immensely piqued, to think that Albert de Morcerf, the most admired
and most sought after of any young person of his day, should thus
be passed over, and merely have his labor for his pains. And the
thing was so much the more annoying, as, according to the
characteristic modesty of a Frenchman, Albert had quitted Paris
with the full conviction that he had only to show himself in Italy
to carry all before him, and that upon his return he should
astonish the Parisian world with the recital of his numerous
love-affairs. Alas, poor Albert! none of those interesting
adventures fell in his way; the lovely Genoese, Florentines, and
Neapolitans were all faithful, if not to their husbands, at least
to their lovers, and thought not of changing even for the splendid
appearance of Albert de Morcerf; and all he gained was the painful
conviction that the ladies of Italy have this advantage over those
of France, that they are faithful even in their infidelity. Yet he
could not restrain a hope that in Italy, as elsewhere, there might
be an exception to the general rule. Albert, besides being an
elegant, well-looking young man, was also possessed of considerable
talent and ability; moreover, he was a viscount — a recently
created one, certainly, but in the present day it is not necessary
to go as far back as Noah in tracing a descent, and a genealogical
tree is equally estimated, whether dated from 1399 or merely 1815;
but to crown all these advantages, Albert de Morcerf commanded an
income of 50,000 livres, a more than sufficient sum to render him a
personage of considerable importance in Paris. It was therefore no
small mortification to him to have visited most of the principal
cities in Italy without having excited the most trifling
observation. Albert, however, hoped to indemnify himself for all
these slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing fullthese slights and indifferences during the Carnival, knowing full
well that among the different states and kingdoms in which this
festivity is celebrated, Rome is the spot where even the wisest and
gravest throw off the usual rigidity of their lives, and deign to
mingle in the follies of this time of liberty and relaxation.
The Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert had
not an instant to lose in setting forth the programme of his hopes,
expectations, and claims to notice. With this design he had engaged
a box in the most conspicuous part of the theatre, and exerted
himself to set off his personal attractions by the aid of the most
rich and elaborate toilet. The box taken by Albert was in the first
circle; although each of the three tiers of boxes is deemed equally
aristocratic, and is, for this reason, generally styled the
"nobility's boxes," and although the box engaged for the two
friends was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a dozen
persons, it had cost less than would be paid at some of the French
theatres for one admitting merely four occupants. Another motive
had influenced Albert's selection of his seat, — who knew but that,
thus advantageously placed, he might not in truth attract the
notice of some fair Roman, and an introduction might ensue that
would procure him the offer of a seat in a carriage, or a place in
a princely balcony, from which he might behold the gayeties of the
Carnival? These united considerations made Albert more lively and
anxious to please than he had hitherto been. Totally disregarding
the business of the stage, he leaned from his box and began
attentively scrutinizing the beauty of each pretty woman, aided by
a powerful opera-glass; but, alas, this attempt to attract notice
wholly failed; not even curiosity had been excited, and it was but
too apparent that the lovely creatures, into whose good graces he
was desirous of stealing, were all so much engrossed with
themselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not