[T]here weeks had already passed, and the most diligent search had been unsuccessful; the attempted robbery and the murder of the robber by his comrade were almost forgotten in anticipation of the approaching Marriage of Mademoiselle Danglars to the Count Andrea Cavalcanti. It was expected this wedding would shortly take place, as the young man was received at the banker’s as the betrothed.
‘I hastened to you,’ continued Beauchamp, ‘to tell you, Albert, in this changing age, that the faults of a father cannot revert upon his children. Few have passed through this revolutionary period, into which we were born, without some stain of infamy or blood to soil the uniform of the soldier, the robe of the judge. Now I have these proofs, Albert, and I am in your confidence, no human power can force me into a duel which your conscience would reproach you with as criminal . . . Do you wish these proofs, these attestations, which I alone possess, to be destroyed?’
The count was no favourite with his colleagues. Like all upstarts, he had had recourse to a great deal of haughtiness to maintain his position. The true nobility laughed at him, the talented repelled him, and the honourable instinctively despised him. Such were the extremities to which the count was driven: the finger of God once pointed at him, everyone was prepared to raise the hue and cry. The Comte de Morcerf alone was ignorant of the news.
[E]verything forgotten or unperceived before presented itself now to his recollection. Monte Cristo knew everything, as he had bought the daughter of Ali Pasha; and, knowing everything, he had advised Danglars to write to Yanina. The answer known, he had yielded to Albert’s wish to be introduced to Haydée, and allowed the conversation to turn on the death of Ali . . . Lastly, he had taken Albert to Normandy when he knew the final blow approached. There could be no doubt that everything had been calculated and previously arranged[.]
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