"Just so tourists visiting the Colosseum by torchlight."
"We shouldn’t be seen together. These guides are basically spies, and they might recognize you. As much as I value your friendship, my worthy friend, if people knew how close we were, I’m afraid both my reputation and credibility would suffer."
"So if you get the reprieve?"
"The middle window at Café Rospoli will show white fabric with a red cross."
"And if you fail?"
"All three windows will have yellow curtains."
"And then?"
"Then, my good man, use your daggers however you want. I’ll even be there to watch you in action."
"We understand each other perfectly. Goodbye, your excellency. Trust as much as I trust you."
With those words, the man in the Trastevere costu disappeared down the staircase. His companion pulled his cloak tighter around his face and passed close enough to Franz that he could’ve touched him, then descended to the arena floor using an exterior staircase.
A mont later, Franz heard Albert calling his na, his voice echoing through the massive building. But Franz didn’t respond until he was sure the two n were far enough away that he wouldn’t run into them. Ten minutes after they’d left, Franz was on his way to Piazza di Spagna, half-listening to Albert’s enthusiastic lecture about the iron-pointed nets the ancient Romans used to protect spectators from wild beasts, delivered in the style of so dusty old historians he’d read.
Franz let him talk without interruption. Honestly, he wasn’t even listening. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, to process everything he’d just witnessed.
One of the two n was a complete stranger. But the other one? Even though Franz hadn’t been able to see his face, obscured by the cloak and shadows, his voice had left too strong an impression the first ti Franz heard it. He’d never forget that voice, no matter when or where he heard it again. Especially when the man spoke with that half-joking, half-bitter tone, it instantly brought Franz back to the grotto of Monte Cristo, and now again here in the dark, ruined grandeur of the Colosseum. The more Franz thought about it, the more convinced he beca.
The man in the cloak was definitely his forr host and mysterious entertainer, "Sinbad the Sailor."
Under normal circumstances, Franz’s curiosity would’ve driven him to learn more about such an intriguing person. He would’ve sought him out imdiately. But given the confidential nature of the conversation he’d just overheard, showing up now would’ve been awkward and inappropriate. So Franz let his forr host leave without revealing himself, though he fully intended to make up for this restraint if chance gave him another opportunity.
Franz tried desperately to stop thinking about all the confusing questions swirling in his mind. He tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t co. He spent the whole night feverishly thinking about everything that connected the mysterious visitor to the Colosseum with the inhabitant of Monte Cristo’s grotto. The more he analyzed it, the stronger his conviction grew, they were the sa person.
Eventually, exhausted, he fell asleep at dawn and didn’t wake until late morning.
anwhile, true to his French nature, Albert had spent his ti productively arranging their evening entertainnt. He’d reserved a box at the Teatro Argentina opera house. Since Franz had letters to write, he let Albert have the carriage for the entire day.
Albert returned at five o’clock, thrilled with his accomplishnts. He’d been delivering his letters of introduction all day and had received more invitations to parties and social events than he could possibly accept. On top of that, he’d already seen all of Ro’s famous tourist attractions, or at least, that’s how he put it. In one day, he’d accomplished what his more thoughtful companion would’ve taken weeks to do. He’d also found out what opera was playing that night and who was performing.
The opera was Parisina, starring three renowned Italian vocalists, Coselli, Moriani, and La Specchia. The young n felt lucky to hear one of the best works by the composer of Lucia di Lamrmoor, perford by so of Italy’s finest singers.
Albert had never really enjoyed Italian theaters. He hated the orchestra pits that blocked your view and the lack of proper private boxes. These flaws bothered soone who’d had premium seats at Paris’ best theaters. Still, Albert always dressed impeccably whenever he went out. Unfortunately, his elegant outfits were completely wasted. One of Paris’s most fashionable young n had practically toured all of Italy without a single romantic adventure.
Sotis Albert would joke about his lack of success, but deep down, he was hurt. His pride was wounded. Albert de Morcerf, one of the most admired and sought-after young n in Paris, being completely ignored? Having nothing to show for his travels? It was unbearable.
What made it worse was that Albert had left Paris fully convinced that he only needed to show up in Italy to sweep everyone off their feet. He’d imagined returning ho with amazing stories of romantic conquests.
Poor Albert! No interesting adventures had co his way. The beautiful won of Genoa, Florence, and Naples were all faithful, if not to their husbands, then at least to their lovers, and showed zero interest in the dazzling Albert de Morcerf. All he’d gained was the painful realization that Italian won, unlike French won, stayed faithful even in their affairs.
Still, he hoped that Italy, like everywhere else, might have exceptions to the rule.
Albert wasn’t just handso and elegant, he was also talented and intelligent. Plus, he was a viscount. Sure, it was a recently created title, but these days you didn’t need to trace your family back to Noah. A family tree from 1815 was just as good as one from 1399. And to top it all off, Albert de Morcerf had an annual inco of 50,000 livres, more than enough to make him an important figure in Paris society.
So it was frustrating that he’d visited most of Italy’s major cities without causing even the slightest stir.
But Albert hoped to make up for all these disappointnts during Carnival season. He knew that in Ro during Carnival, even the most serious and dignified people let loose and joined in the festivities.
Carnival started tomorrow, so Albert didn’t have a mont to waste in establishing himself. He’d reserved a box in the most prominent part of the theater and dressed in his finest clothes to show himself off to maximum effect.
The box Albert had chosen was in the first circle. Although all three levels of boxes were considered equally prestigious and collectively called "the nobility’s boxes," and despite the box being large enough to hold at least twelve people, it cost less than a four-person box in so French theaters.
Another reason influenced Albert’s choice: positioned so prominently, he might catch the eye of so beautiful Roman woman. An introduction might follow, leading to an invitation to join her in her carriage or watch the Carnival festivities from a princely balcony.
These combined hopes made Albert livelier and more eager to please than he’d been so far. Completely ignoring what was happening on stage, he leaned out of his box and started scanning every pretty woman with his powerful opera glasses. But unfortunately, this attempt to get noticed failed completely. He didn’t even spark curiosity. The lovely creatures he was trying to charm were all too absorbed in themselves, their lovers, or their own thoughts to notice him or his fancy binoculars.
The truth was that everyone was thinking about the upcoming Carnival and Holy Week festivities. The actual opera performance was just background noise. Actors made their entrances and exits unnoticed. Occasionally, at appropriate monts, the audience would stop talking to listen to so brilliant musical passage, a stunning note from Moriani, a well-executed recitative by Coselli, or La Specchia’s incredible vocal range, but then they’d imdiately return to their conversations.
Near the end of the first act, the door of an empty box opened. A lady entered whom Franz had t in Paris, where he’d assud she still was. Albert’s sharp eyes caught Franz’s involuntary reaction to seeing her.
"Do you know the woman who just ca in?" Albert asked quickly.
"Yes. What do you think of her?"
"She’s absolutely gorgeous! That complexion! And that magnificent hair! Is she French?"
"No, Venetian."
"What’s her na?"
"Countess G-."
"Ah, I know of her!" Albert exclaid. "They say she’s as witty and clever as she is beautiful. I was supposed to et her at Mada Villefort’s ball."
"Want to help you fix that missed opportunity?" Franz asked.
"Are you really on good enough terms with her to take to her box?"
"Well, I’ve only been in her company and talked with her three or four tis. But even a brief acquaintance like that would justify what you’re asking."
Just then, the countess noticed Franz and graciously waved at him. He responded with a respectful bow.
"Wow," Albert said, "you seem to be on excellent terms with the beautiful countess."
"You’re wrong about that," Franz replied calmly. "But you’re making the sa mistake many of our countryn make, which leads to the most embarrassing blunders. I’m talking about judging Italian and Spanish customs by Parisian standards. Trust , nothing is more misleading than assuming the degree of intimacy between people based on how familiar they seem. Right now, there’s a similarity of feeling between the countess and myself, nothing more."
"Oh really? What kind of similarity? A eting of hearts?"
"No, of taste," Franz said seriously.
"And how has this shared taste been revealed?"
"The countess visited the Colosseum last night by moonlight, nearly alone, just like we did."
"You were with her?"
"I was."
"And what did you talk about?"
"We discussed the illustrious dead that magnificent ruin commorates."
"Good god," Albert cried. "You must have been thrilling company! Alone, or practically alone, with a beautiful woman in a romantic place like the Colosseum, and the best you could talk about was dead people? I’m telling you, if I ever get a chance like that, I’ll talk about the living."
"And you’ll probably find your topic poorly chosen."
"But never mind the past," Albert interrupted. "What about now? Are you going to keep your promise and introduce to her?"
"Of course, as soon as the curtain falls."
"This first act is taking forever! I swear they’re never going to finish it."
"Sure they will. Just listen to that charming finale. Coselli is singing beautifully."
"But he’s so awkward and clumsy-looking."
"Fine, what about La Specchia? Have you ever seen more perfect acting?"
"Look, when you’ve been used to hearing singers like Malibran and Sontag, these perforrs don’t make the sa impression."
"At least you must admire Moriani’s style and technique."
"I never liked seeing dark, heavy-looking n singing with won’s voices."
"My friend," Franz said, turning to him while Albert continued surveying every box with his binoculars, "you seem determined not to enjoy anything. You’re impossible to please."
The curtain finally fell, much to Viscount Morcerf’s relief. He grabbed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, adjusted his tie and cuffs, and signaled to Franz that he was ready.
Franz had silently checked with the countess and received a gracious smile indicating he’d be welco. Not wanting to delay Albert’s eager anticipation, Franz imdiately began the walk to the other side of the theater, with Albert close behind. Albert used those few minutes to check his collar height and smoothness one more ti and adjust his coat lapels.
He finished this crucial task just as they arrived at the countess’ box.
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