After the much-needed bath, Dantes puts on his dressing gown and lies
down on his old bed, which he finds deeply comforting. He has played
and traveled hard over the past few busy years, and he knows it has worn
on him; there is more silver in his hair than before. He hopes to slow
down soon, for he loves his new home with his family close by and misses
them terribly.
The sweet, baby faces of his daughters
loom in the darkness of his closed eyes. How blessed he is! He resolves
to enjoy Paris while he is here, though. He wants to go to the opera
while he is in town and also visit a few of his favorite haunts.
Finally, he falls fast asleep, only to awaken to a servant telling him
the meal is nearly ready.
The servant helps Dantes dress and leads him to the dining room.
“The
table looks divine,” Dantes says, thinking how nice it is to be out of
his traveling clothes and into something more refined. He looks at the
spread before him—fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as two huge
pheasants with mint jelly. The yeasty smell of homemade bread fills the
air and makes his mouth water.
“I hope this pleases
you, sir,” Valentine tells him. “I know the food in America is quite
different. Perhaps you have become too accustomed to their fare to
appreciate ours.”
“Oh, nothing can compare to a good
French meal, although American food has its own charms. When the baby is
old enough to travel, you will all have to visit my estate in Georgia.
It’s a different world, but one I believe you will enjoy,” Dantes tells
them.
Just then, he hears the creak of a wheelchair. In comes M. Noirtier. Dantes rushes over to him and bids him hello.
“My
old friend!” he says. “My heart fills with joy to see you—let us enjoy
this magnificent feast as well as one another’s company.”
The
next morning, Dantes plans to visit more of his old friends, at least
those who still reside in Paris. A carriage awaits him in the hazy light
of dawn, and he is flooded with memories as he drives through the
streets. He wishes Mercedes and Haydee could be at his side, but knows
his daughters are far too young for such travel; it would exhaust them.
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