The next morning, Albert practically dragged Franz to the Count’s suite. Sure, he’d thanked the man profusely the night before, but when soone saves your life, once is never enough.
Franz had mixed feelings about going back. Sothing about the Count drew him in, like a moth to a fla, but there was also sothing unsettling about the man. Still, he couldn’t let Albert face that strange magnetism alone, so he agreed without protest.
After a brief wait, the Count appeared in the salon, his presence filling the room.
"My dear Count," Albert said, rushing forward with his hand extended. "Please let thank you again for last night. I’ll never forget what you did for . As long as I live, I’ll rember that I owe you my life."
The Count smiled, an expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "My excellent friend and neighbor, you’re making too much of a small favor. You owe nothing except about twenty thousand francs you didn’t have to spend on ransom money. Hardly worth ntioning. Though I must say, I’m impressed by how calm you were during the whole ordeal. Not many people can face death with such indifference."
Albert laughed. "I can’t take credit for that. I just decided to accept whatever happened and show those bandits that we French can smile even when death is staring us in the face. But that doesn’t change what I owe you. So I’m here to ask, is there anything I can do for you? My father is an influential man at the royal court, both here and abroad. Whatever you need, just na it. I’ll put everything at your disposal."
"Actually," the Count replied, "I was hoping you’d say that. Your offer is exactly what I expected, and I accept it wholeheartedly. In fact, I was already planning to ask you for a significant favor."
"Anything! Just tell what you need."
"I’ve never been to the capital, your great city that everyone talks about."
Albert’s eyes widened. "Wait, seriously? You’ve never been to the greatest city in the world? That’s... that’s actually shocking."
"I know it’s embarrassing," the Count admitted. "It’s sothing I should have corrected long ago. The problem is, I don’t know anyone there. I have no connections, no way to enter high society. So I’ve had to postpone the trip indefinitely."
"Soone as distinguished as you?" Albert exclaid. "You wouldn’t need an introduction!"
"You’re too kind. The truth is, I’m just a wealthy man, I could have partnered with any number of bankers and investors. But I wasn’t interested in going there for business. I wanted to experience the real social scene. Your offer changes everything." His smile turned peculiar. "So, my dear Monsieur de Morcerf, can you promise that when I arrive in your city, you’ll open the doors of that fashionable world to ? I know nothing about it, I’m a complete outsider."
"Absolutely!" Albert said eagerly. "I’d be delighted. Actually, perfect timing, I just got a letter from my father this morning calling back ho. There’s so marriage arrangent in the works." He glanced at Franz. "Don’t you dare laugh. It’s with a very prominent family, well-connected in all the right circles."
"Connected by marriage, you an," Franz said with a grin.
"Whatever, sa difference," Albert shot back. "By the ti you visit, I might even be a respectable family man! Can you imagine? But anyway, Count, you can count on for anything you need."
"Then it’s settled," the Count said. "This is exactly the opportunity I’ve been waiting for."
Franz watched the exchange closely, rembering strange things the Count had ntioned before, cryptic hints about mysterious plans. He studied the Count’s face, trying to read his intentions, but the man’s expression was impossible to decipher, especially behind that sphinx-like smile.
"But seriously, Count," Albert pressed, excitent lighting up his face at the prospect of showing off such an interesting guest. "Are you really serious about this? Or is it just one of those pipe dreams we all have, plans we make but never actually follow through on?"
"I give you my word of honor," the Count replied. "I’m completely serious. I have reasons, both personal and professional, that make this trip necessary."
"When are you planning to go?"
"When will you be there?"
"? Two or three weeks, max. As soon as I can get there."
"Then I’ll give you three months," the Count said. "That should account for any delays or complications."
"So in three months, you’ll co to my house?"
"Shall we set an exact date and ti?" the Count asked. "I should warn you, I’m notorious for my punctuality. I never miss an appointnt."
"Day for day, hour for hour," Albert agreed. "Perfect."
"Excellent." The Count walked over to a calendar hanging near the fireplace and pulled out his pocket watch. "Today is February 21st, and it’s exactly 10:30 in the morning. Rember this mont, I’ll arrive at your door on May 21st at 10:30 AM. Not a minute before, not a minute after."
"Fantastic!" Albert bead. "I’ll have breakfast waiting for you."
"What’s your address?"
"Number 27, Rue du Helder."
"Is that your own place? I hope I’m not imposing."
"I live in my father’s house, but I have my own wing, a separate building across the courtyard. Completely private."
"Perfect." The Count pulled out a small notebook and wrote down the details. "Number 27, Rue du Helder. May 21st, 10:30 AM." He snapped the notebook shut. "Consider it done. I’ll be more punctual than a Swiss watch."
"Will I see you again before I leave?" Albert asked.
"When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow evening at five."
"Then I’m afraid this is goodbye. I have to go to Naples and won’t return until Saturday evening at the earliest." He turned to Franz. "And you, Baron, are you also leaving tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Returning ho as well?"
"No, I’m going to Venice. I’ll be staying abroad for another year or two."
"So we won’t et in the capital?"
"I’m afraid not."
"Well then, since we must part," the Count said, extending his hand to each young man, "I wish you both safe travels."
It was the first ti Franz had actually touched the Count’s hand. He couldn’t suppress a shudder, the hand felt cold, lifeless, like touching a corpse.
"Just to confirm," Albert said firmly, "you promise to be at Number 27, Rue du Helder, on May 21st at 10:30 in the morning? Your word of honor on your punctuality?"
"May 21st, 10:30 AM, Number 27, Rue du Helder," the Count repeated. "You have my word."
Back in their own rooms, Albert noticed Franz’s troubled expression. "What’s wrong? You look like you’re a million miles away."
Franz sighed. "I’ll be honest with you, Albert. The Count is... strange. This eting you’ve arranged fills with dread."
"What?" Albert laughed. "Are you serious right now? Have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe I have," Franz said quietly. "But that’s how I feel."
"Listen, Franz," Albert said, his tone becoming more serious. "I’m glad we’re having this conversation, because I’ve noticed how cold you’ve been toward the Count. anwhile, he’s been nothing but courteous to us. Do you have so problem with him?"
"Possibly."
"Have you t him before?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Promise you won’t repeat what I’m about to tell you."
"I promise."
"On your honor?"
"On my honor."
Franz took a deep breath and told him everything, the trip to Monte Cristo island, the smugglers, the Corsican bandits, the incredible hospitality in that magical underground grotto. He described the lavish dinner, the strange drug they’d given him, the statues, the vivid dream, and how when he woke up, everything had vanished except for a small yacht sailing away in the distance.
Then he recounted what he’d overheard at the Colosseum, the Count’s conversation with the bandit leader Vampa, promising to free one of his n from execution. A promise the Count had actually kept. Finally, he explained last night’s crisis, being short on cash for the ransom and the Count’s imdiate, generous assistance.
Albert listened intently to every word. When Franz finished, he shrugged. "So? What’s the problem? The Count likes to travel, and he’s rich enough to own his own ship. Go to any major port and you’ll see dozens of yachts owned by wealthy people who enjoy sailing. The Count just happens to have a vacation spot on Monte Cristo island to avoid bad hotels and terrible food. And to make sure no governnt tries to claim his property, he bought the whole island. That’s just smart business. Plenty of people take on titles from lands they own, or even lands they don’t own."
"But the bandits on his crew-" Franz protested.
"Corsican bandits aren’t criminals in the usual sense," Albert interrupted. "They’re fugitives, people forced to flee their hos because of blood feuds or political conflicts. There’s no sha in that. Honestly, if I ever went to Corsica, I’d want to et these bandits. They’re fascinating."
"What about Vampa and his gang?" Franz pressed. "They’re actual kidnappers and thieves. How do you explain the Count’s influence over them?"
"Well, since that influence probably saved my life, and definitely saved twenty-four thousand francs, I’m not inclined to look too closely at it. Instead of condemning him for knowing outlaws, I’m grateful. That connection rescued from a very expensive situation. Maybe I wasn’t in serious danger, but I would have been flat broke."
"Fine," Franz said with growing frustration, "but what country is he from? What’s his native language? Where did he get his fortune? What happened in his past that made him so bitter and cynical? Don’t you want answers to any of these questions?"
"Franz, my friend," Albert said calmly, "when you realized I needed the Count’s help, did you go to him asking questions? No. You said, ’My friend Albert is in danger, help save him.’ Am I right?"
"Yes."
"Did he ask you where I was from, who my family was, how we made our money, or anything else about ?"
Franz hesitated. "No."
"Exactly. He just ca and freed from Vampa without asking a single question. Now he’s asking to return the favor, just introduce him to society, sothing we do for visiting nobility all the ti. Would you seriously have refuse after what he did? Co on, Franz. You can’t expect to be that cold-blooded."
For once, Albert had the better argunt, and Franz knew it.
"Fine," Franz said with a resigned sigh. "Do what you want. I can’t argue with your logic. But you have to admit, this Count of Monte Cristo is one of the strangest people we’ve ever t."
"He’s a philanthropist," Albert declared. "Probably coming to the capital to win so humanitarian award. If I can help him with that, I will. Now co on, let’s grab lunch and visit the cathedral one more ti before we leave?"
Franz nodded silently.
The next afternoon at five-thirty, the two friends parted ways, Albert heading ho, Franz continuing on to Venice for a two-week stay.
But before climbing into his carriage, Albert had one last thought. Worried that his mysterious guest might forget their appointnt, he left a card with the hotel staff to be delivered to the Count of Monte Cristo.
On it, beneath his na, Viscount Albert de Morcerf, he had written in pencil:
27 Rue du Helder, May 21st, 10:30 AM
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