window with the white curtains?"
"Where was this window with white hangings?" asked the
countess.
"At the Rospoli Palace."
"The count had three windows at the Rospoli Palace?"
"Yes. Did you pass through the Corso?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask, and
one with white damask with a red cross? Those were the count's
windows."
"Why, he must be a nabob. Do you know what those three windows
were worth?"
"Two or three hundred Roman crowns?"
"Two or three thousand."
"The deuce."
"Does his island produce him such a revenue?"
"It does not bring him a baiocco."
"Then why did he purchase it?"
"For a whim."
"He is an original, then?"
"In reality," observed Albert, "he seemed to me somewhat
eccentric; were he at Paris, and a frequenter of the theatres, I
should say he was a poor devil literally mad. This morning he made
two or three exits worthy of Didier or Anthony." At this moment a
fresh visitor entered, and, according to custom, Franz gave up his
seat to him. This circumstance had, moreover, the effect of
changing the conversation; an hour afterwards the two friends
returned to their hotel. Signor Pastrini had already set about
procuring their disguises for the morrow; and he assured them that
they would be perfectly satisfied. The next morning, at nine
o'clock, he entered Franz's room, followed by a tailor, who had
eight or ten Roman peasant costumes on his arm; they selected two
exactly alike, and charged the tailor to sew on each of their hats
about twenty yards of ribbon, and to procure them two of the long
silk sashes of different colors with which the lower orders
decorate themselves on fete-days. Albert was impatient to see how
he looked in his new dress — a jacket and breeches of blue velvet,
silk stockings with clocks, shoes with buckles, and a silk
waistcoat. This picturesque attire set him off to great advantage;
and when he had bound the scarf around his waist, and when his hat,
placed coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a streamplaced coquettishly on one side, let fall on his shoulder a stream
of ribbons, Franz was forced to confess that costume has much to do
with the physical superiority we accord to certain nations. The
Turks used to be so picturesque with their long and flowing robes,
but are they not now hideous with their blue frocks buttoned up to
the chin, and their red caps, which make them look like a bottle of
wine with a red seal? Franz complimented Albert, who looked at
himself in the glass with an unequivocal smile of satisfaction.
They were thus engaged when the Count of Monte Cristo entered.
"Gentlemen," said he, "although a companion is agreeable,
perfect freedom is sometimes still more agreeable. I come to say
that to-day, and for the remainder of the Carnival, I leave the
carriage entirely at your disposal. The host will tell you I have
three or four more, so that you will not inconvenience me in any
way. Make use of it, I pray you, for your pleasure or your
business."
The young men wished to decline, but they could find no good
reason for refusing an offer which was so agreeable to them. The
Count of Monte Cristo remained a quarter of an hour with them,
conversing on all subjects with the greatest ease. He was, as we
have already said, perfectly well acquainted with the literature of
all countries. A glance at the walls of his salon proved to Franz
and Albert that he was a connoisseur of pictures. A few words he
let fall showed them that he was no stranger to the sciences, and
he seemed much occupied with chemistry. The two friends did not
venture to return the count the breakfast he had given them; it
would have been too absurd to offer him in exchange for his
excellent table the very inferior one of Signor Pastrini. They told
him so frankly, and he received their excuses with the air of a man
who appreciated their delicacy. Albert was charmed with the count's
manners, and he was only prevented from recognizing him for a
perfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permissionperfect gentleman by reason of his varied knowledge. The permission
to do what he liked with the carriage pleased him above all, for
the fair peasants had appeared in a most elegant carriage the
preceding evening, and Albert was not sorry to be upon an equal
footing with them. At half-past one they descended, the coachman
and footman had put on their livery over their disguises, which
gave them a more ridiculous appearance than ever, and which gained
them the applause of Franz and Albert. Albert had fastened the
faded bunch of violets to his button-hole. At the first sound of
the bell they hastened into the Corso by the Via Vittoria. At the
second turn, a bunch of fresh violets, thrown from a carriage
filled with harlequins, indicated to Albert that, like himself and
his friend, the peasants had changed their costume, also; and
whether it was the result of chance, or whether a similar feeling
had possessed them both, while he had changed his costume they had
assumed his.
Albert placed the fresh bouquet in his button-hole, but he kept
the faded one in his hand; and when he again met the calash, he
raised it to his lips, an action which seemed greatly to amuse not
only the fair lady who had thrown it, but her joyous companions
also. The day was as gay as the preceding one, perhaps even more
animated and noisy; the count appeared for an instant at his
window. but when they again passed he had disappeared. It is almost
needless to say that the flirtation between Albert and the fair
peasant continued all day. In the evening, on his return, Franz
found a letter from the embassy, informing him that he would have
the honor of being received by his holiness the next day. At each
previous visit he had made to Rome, he had solicited and obtained
the same favor; and incited as much by a religious feeling as by
gratitude, he was unwilling to quit the capital of the Christian
world without laying his respectful homage at the feet of one of
St. Peter's successors who has set the rare example of all the