to Madame Danglars; his second, the almost miraculous preservation of Madame de Villefort’s life; now it seems that he has carried off the prize awarded by the Jockey Club. I therefore maintain, in spite of Morcerf, that not only is the count the object of interest at this present moment, but also that he will continue to be so for a month longer if he pleases to exhibit an eccentricity of conduct which, after all, may be his ordinary mode of existence.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Morcerf; “meanwhile, who is in the Russian ambassador’s box?”
“Which box do you mean?” asked the countess.
“The one between the pillars on the first tier—it seems to have been fitted up entirely afresh.”
“Did you observe anyone during the first act?” asked Château-Renaud.
“Where?”
“In that box.”
“No,” replied the countess, “it was certainly empty during the first act;” then, resuming the subject of their previous conversation, she said, “And so you really believe it was your mysterious Count of Monte Cristo that gained the prize?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And who afterwards sent the cup to me?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But I don’t know him,” said the countess; “I have a great mind to return it.”