"Is there then no shadow of a hope?" at length asked Joliette, in a hoarse whisper.
"Not the shadow of a hope!" replied Mlle. d'Armilly, firmly. "You can be my friend, my brother, if you will, but never my husband."
The young man recoiled in horror at the suggestion that seemed to be conveyed by this permission.
"What do you mean by friend?" he asked, a cold shiver passing through him.
Louise laughed a short, nervous laugh, and, looking him full in the eyes, replied: "You know what I mean. I love you better than any man I ever met, save one."
Captain Joliette slowly arose to his feet and stood staring at her, his passion and his scruples waging a bitter battle within him for the mastery. The temptress half reclined on the sofa, a miracle of seductive grace and voluptuous beauty. He moved toward her as if to seize her in his arms; then, suddenly checking himself, he asked, with a convulsive gasp: "And that man--that one?"
"Was separated from me forever through the vile machinations of that mysterious and cold-blooded fiend, the Count of Monte-Cristo!"
"The Count of Monte-Cristo?" exclaimed the young man, lost in amazement.
"Yes, the Count of Monte-Cristo, who afterwards disappeared from Paris and has not since been heard of."
"You mistake; the Count of Monte-Cristo is in Paris now; he calls himself Edmond Dantès and is the celebrated Deputy from Marseilles over whom everybody has gone wild for some time past."
Mlle. d'Armilly's eyes flashed with fury.
"Then I will have my revenge upon him at last!" she cried. "I will amply repay him for introducing the so-called Prince Cavalcanti into my father's house and thus breaking off the match between Albert and myself."
"Albert?"
"Yes; Albert de Morcerf."
"Now, Eugénie Danglars, I know you and it is useless for you to attempt the denial of your identity longer!"
The young woman leaped up from the sofa, with terror pictured upon her visage, and, seizing Captain Joliette by the arm with a powerful grasp, cried out: "And how, pray, do you know I am Eugénie Danglars?"
"You unwittingly betrayed yourself by revealing the names of Monte-Cristo and Cavalcanti. Besides, Eugénie, look at me well--I am Albert de Morcerf!"
With a wild cry the retired prima donna sank back upon the sofa.
"You Albert de Morcerf!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe it!"
"But my mother, the former Countess de Morcerf, who is now the wife of Edmond Dantès, will vouch for my identity."
The young woman passed her hand across her forehead as if dazed.
"If you are Albert de Morcerf, you must despise me after what has taken place this evening," she said, bitterly.