At the Place Louis XV, the three young n went their separate ways. Morrel headed toward the main boulevards, Château-Renaud took the bridge route, and Debray went toward the riverside district. Morrel and Château-Renaud probably went straight ho to their families, but Debray had other plans.
When he reached the old palace gates, he turned left and rode quickly through the plaza, cutting through side streets until he arrived at Mr. Danglars’ mansion, just as another carriage was pulling up. The carriage belonged to Villefort, the prosecutor, who had just dropped off his wife at their own estate before bringing Baroness Danglars ho.
Debray, clearly a regular visitor, rode straight into the courtyard, tossed his horse’s reins to a servant, and hurried back to the entrance. He offered his arm to Mada Danglars, Hermine, and escorted her inside. Once the gate closed behind them and they were alone in the courtyard, he asked quietly, "What’s wrong, Hermine? Why did that story the count told tonight upset you so much?"
"I’ve just been in a terrible mood all evening, that’s all," the baroness replied.
"No, Hermine," Debray said, shaking his head. "I don’t buy that. You were in great spirits when we first arrived at the count’s house. Your husband was being disagreeable, sure, but you never let his bad moods bother you. Soone’s gotten under your skin. Tell who, and I’ll deal with them."
"You’re wrong, Lucien, I promise," Mada Danglars insisted. "What I told you is the truth. It’s just my mood, combined with my husband’s attitude, which I didn’t think was worth ntioning."
It was obvious that Mada Danglars was suffering from so kind of nervous irritation, the kind that won sotis can’t explain even to themselves. Or perhaps, as Debray suspected, sothing had happened that she didn’t want to share with anyone. Being experienced with won, he knew better than to push the issue right now. He’d wait for a better mont to ask again, or until she decided to tell him on her own.
At the door to her private rooms, the baroness t her personal maid, Mademoiselle Cornélie.
"What’s my daughter doing?" Mada Danglars asked.
"She practiced piano all evening, ma’am, then went to bed," Cornélie answered.
"But I think I hear her piano playing."
"That’s Mademoiselle Louise d’Armilly playing while your daughter sleeps."
"I see," Mada Danglars said. "Co help change."
They entered the bedroom. Debray stretched out on a large sofa while Mada Danglars disappeared into her dressing room with Cornélie.
"My dear Lucien," Mada Danglars called through the door, "you’re always complaining that Eugénie won’t talk to you."
"Mada," Lucien replied, playing with a small dog that recognized him as a friend and wanted attention, "I’m not the only one with that complaint. I heard Morcerf say he can’t get a word out of his own fiancée either."
"True," said Mada Danglars. "But I think this phase will pass. One day you’ll see her walk right into your office."
"My office?"
"Well, at least the minister’s office."
"Why would she do that?"
"To ask for a position at the Opera House. Honestly, I’ve never seen such an obsession with music. It’s ridiculous for a young lady of her social standing."
Debray smiled. "Well, let her co, with your permission and the baron’s, of course. We’ll try to give her a position, though we’re hardly wealthy enough to pay for talent like hers."
"You can go now, Cornélie," said Mada Danglars. "I don’t need you anymore."
Cornélie left, and monts later, Mada Danglars erged from her dressing room in a comfortable lounging dress. She sat down close to Debray and began absently petting the little dog. Lucien watched her in silence for a mont.
"Co on, Hermine," he said finally. "Be honest with , sothing’s bothering you, isn’t it?"
"Nothing," the baroness answered.
But she could barely breathe. She stood and walked to a mirror. "I look awful tonight," she said.
Debray stood up, smiling, about to contradict her, when the door suddenly burst open.
Mr. Danglars appeared.
Debray quickly sat back down. At the sound of the door, Mada Danglars spun around and stared at her husband with unconcealed shock.
"Good evening, mada," said the banker. "Good evening, Mr. Debray."
The baroness probably thought this unexpected visit ant her husband wanted to apologize for his harsh words earlier in the day. Putting on a dignified air, she turned back to Debray without acknowledging her husband.
"Read sothing, Mr. Debray," she said.
Debray, slightly disturbed by this intrusion, recovered when he saw how calm the baroness remained. He picked up a book marked with an elegant bookmark.
"Excuse ," said the banker, "but you’ll tire yourself out, baroness, staying up so late. And Mr. Debray lives quite far from here."
Debray was stunned, not just because Danglars spoke so calmly and politely, but because beneath that surface politeness, there was clearly a determined opposition to whatever his wife wanted. The baroness was equally surprised and shot her husband a look that would normally have had so effect, except he was intensely focused on a newspaper, checking the closing stock prices. Her proud glare completely failed to land.
"Mr. Lucien," said the baroness, "I assure you I have no desire to sleep. I have a thousand things to tell you tonight, and you must listen to them, even if you fall asleep while I’m talking."
"I’m at your service, mada," Lucien replied coolly.
"My dear Mr. Debray," said the banker, "don’t exhaust yourself tonight listening to my wife’s chatter. You can hear it just as well tomorrow. But I’m claiming tonight for myself. I need to discuss so serious matters with my wife, if you’ll allow ."
This blow landed perfectly. Both Lucien and the baroness were staggered. They looked at each other as if searching for help against this assault, but the unmovable will of the master of the house prevailed. The husband was victorious.
"Don’t think I’m trying to kick you out, my dear Debray," Danglars continued. "Not at all. An unexpected situation has forced to have a little conversation with my wife. It’s so rare that I make such a request, I’m sure you can’t begrudge this."
Debray muttered sothing unintelligible, bowed, and left, nearly slamming into the doorfra on his way out.
"It’s extraordinary," he muttered once the door closed behind him, "how easily these husbands, the ones we all mock, manage to get the upper hand on us."
After Lucien left, Danglars took his place on the sofa. He closed the open book, positioned himself in an extrely authoritative posture, and began playing with the dog. But the animal didn’t like him as much as it liked Debray. When it tried to bite him, Danglars grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and hurled it onto a couch across the room.
The dog yelped during its flight through the air, but once it landed, it cowered behind the cushions, stunned by this unusual treatnt. It remained silent and motionless.
"Do you know, sir," asked the baroness, "that you’re making progress? Usually you’re just rude, but tonight you’re being brutal."
"That’s because I’m in a worse mood than usual," Danglars replied.
Hermine looked at the banker with supre contempt. These glances usually infuriated Danglars’ pride, but tonight he didn’t even seem to notice.
"And what do I have to do with your bad mood?" said the baroness, irritated by her husband’s indifference. "Are these things my concern? Keep your bad mood locked up with your money, or since you pay clerks, take it out on them."
"No," replied Danglars. "That’s bad advice, so I won’t follow it. My money is my golden river, and I won’t disturb its flow. My clerks are honest n who earn my fortune. I pay them far less than they deserve, considering what they bring in. So I won’t waste my anger on them. The people I’ll be angry with are those who eat my dinners, ride my horses, and drain my fortune."
"And who exactly are these people draining your fortune? Explain yourself more clearly, please."
"Oh, don’t worry, I’m not speaking in riddles. You’ll understand soon enough. The people draining my fortune are those who withdraw seven hundred thousand francs in the course of an hour."
"I don’t understand you, sir," said the baroness, trying to disguise the tremor in her voice and the flush spreading across her face.
"You understand perfectly," said Danglars. "But if you insist on playing dumb, I’ll spell it out: I just lost seven hundred thousand francs on a Spanish investnt."
"And am I responsible for this loss?"
"Why not?"
"Is it my fault you lost seven hundred thousand francs?"
"It certainly isn’t mine."
"Once and for all, sir," replied the baroness sharply, "I’m telling you I won’t hear about money. That’s a style of conversation I never heard in my parents’ house or in my first husband’s house."
"Oh, I believe that! Neither of them had a penny to their na."
"All the more reason I’m not familiar with this banking slang that pounds in my ears from morning to night. The constant noise of coins being counted and recounted is disgusting to . There’s only one thing I dislike more, the sound of your voice."
"Really?" said Danglars. "Well, this surprises , because I thought you took the liveliest interest in all my business affairs."
"? What gave you that idea?"
"You did."
"? What are you talking about?"
"Absolutely."
"I’d like to know when."
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