"Well?" asked Mada Danglars, anxiety evident in her voice.
"Well, mada?" Debray repeated, his tone carefully neutral.
"What do you think about this letter?"
"It’s simple enough, mada. It tells that Monsieur Danglars has left under suspicious circumstances."
"Obviously. But is that all you have to say to ?"
"I don’t understand what you’re asking," Debray said, his voice turning ice-cold.
"He’s gone! Gone forever!"
"Oh, mada, surely not-"
"I’m telling you, he’ll never return. I know his character. He’s absolutely inflexible when it cos to decisions that benefit him. If he could have used sohow, he would have taken with him. He left in Paris because our separation serves his interests. So yes, he’s gone, and I’m free forever."
Mada Danglars spoke in a pleading tone, but Debray didn’t respond. He just let her remain there, nervous and questioning.
"Well?" she finally said. "Aren’t you going to answer ?"
"I have only one question: what do you plan to do?"
"I was going to ask you the sa thing," the baroness replied, her heart pounding.
"Ah, so you want my advice?"
"Yes, I want your advice," Mada Danglars said, desperately hoping for reassurance.
"Then if you want my advice," the young man said coldly, "I recomnd you travel."
"Travel?" she whispered.
"Certainly. As Monsieur Danglars said, you’re rich and completely free. In my opinion, leaving Paris is absolutely necessary after this double catastrophe, Mademoiselle Danglars’ broken engagent and Monsieur Danglars’ disappearance. Society will think you’ve been abandoned and left poor. The wife of a bankrupt man would never be forgiven if she appeared wealthy."
He continued, his tone businesslike and detached. "You should stay in Paris for about two weeks, telling everyone you’ve been abandoned. Share the details with your closest friends, they’ll spread the word quickly enough. Then you can leave your house, abandon your jewels, give up your settlent money, and everyone will praise your selflessness. They’ll know you were deserted and believe you’re poor. Only I know your real financial situation, and I’m ready to settle our accounts as an honest business partner."
The baroness listened in pale, motionless horror. Her dread matched the calm indifference in Debray’s voice perfectly.
"Deserted?" she repeated. "Yes, you’re right. I am deserted. No one can doubt that now."
Those were the only words this proud, passionately devoted woman could manage in response.
"But you’re rich, very rich, actually," Debray continued, pulling so papers from his wallet and spreading them on the table.
Mada Danglars didn’t look at them. She was too busy trying to control her racing heart and hold back the tears threatening to fall. Finally, pride won out. She managed to prevent even a single tear from falling, though she couldn’t completely hide her agitation.
"Mada," Debray said, "it’s been almost six months since we beca business partners. You provided the initial capital of one hundred thousand francs. We started our partnership in April and began operations in May. That month, we gained four hundred fifty thousand francs. In June, our profit reached nine hundred thousand. In July, we added one million seven hundred thousand francs, that was the month of the Spanish bonds, you rember."
He continued his precise accounting like a professional stockbroker. "In August, we lost three hundred thousand francs at the beginning of the month, but we recovered on the thirteenth. Our total accounts, from the first day of our partnership until yesterday when I closed them, show a capital of two million four hundred thousand francs. That’s one million two hundred thousand for each of us. Additionally, I still have eighty thousand francs in interest in my possession."
"But," the baroness said weakly, "I thought you never invested the money for interest."
"With your permission, mada, I did," Debray replied coldly. "So there’s forty thousand francs in interest for your share, plus the one hundred thousand you gave initially. In total, you have one million three hundred forty thousand francs."
He walked to a closet as he spoke. "I took the precaution of withdrawing your money the day before yesterday, not long ago, as you can see. I was constantly expecting to be called on to settle our accounts. Your money is here because I didn’t consider my house safe enough, lawyers aren’t discreet enough, and property ownership leaves a paper trail. Also, you have no legal right to own anything independent of your husband, so I kept this sum, your entire fortune, in a chest hidden under this closet. For extra security, I concealed it there myself."
He opened the closet, then the chest. "Here are eight hundred thousand-franc notes, which look like a large iron-bound book, as you can see. I’m adding a certificate for twenty-five thousand francs in bonds. For the remaining amount, about one hundred ten thousand francs, here’s a check from my banker. Since he’s not Monsieur Danglars, you can be sure he’ll pay you."
Mada Danglars chanically took the check, the bond, and the stack of banknotes. This enormous fortune didn’t look like much sitting on the table. Her eyes were dry now, though her chest heaved with suppressed emotion. She placed the banknotes in her bag, put the certificate and check in her wallet, then stood there, pale and silent, waiting for one kind word of comfort.
She waited in vain.
"Now, mada," Debray said, "you have a splendid fortune, an inco of about sixty thousand a year, which is enormous for a woman who can’t maintain a household in Paris for at least a year. You’ll be able to indulge yourself. Besides, if you find your inco insufficient, you can use mine for old tis’ sake. I’m ready to offer you everything I have, as a loan."
"Thank you, sir," the baroness replied quietly. "You forget that what you’ve just given is far more than a poor woman needs, especially one who plans to retire from society for so ti."
Debray looked montarily surprised, but he quickly recovered and bowed, a gesture that seed to say, As you wish, mada.
Until that mont, Mada Danglars had perhaps still hoped for sothing, anything. But when she saw Debray’s careless bow, his indifferent glance, and his aningful silence, she lifted her head. Without passion, violence, or even hesitation, she ran down the stairs. She didn’t bother with a final farewell to soone who could part with her so easily.
"Well," Debray muttered after she left, "these grand plans of hers won’t last. She’ll stay ho, read novels, and gamble since she can’t play the stock market anymore."
He picked up his account book and carefully canceled all the entries for the money he’d just paid out. "I have one million sixty thousand francs remaining," he said to himself. "What a sha Mademoiselle de Villefort is dead. She suited perfectly. I would have married her."
He calmly waited the full twenty minutes after Mada Danglars’ departure before leaving the house himself. During that ti, he entertained himself by making calculations, his watch sitting beside him.
If a demon with the power to see through walls had lifted the roof of that little house on Rue Saint-Germain-des-Prés while Debray counted his money, it would have witnessed a fascinating contrast.
Above the room where Debray had just divided two and a half million francs with Mada Danglars was another room, inhabited by people whose story was intimately connected to everything that had happened.
rcédès and Albert lived there.
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