"Surely," he muttered, "this artiste can in no way interest me personally, and yet I feel a subtile premonition that it would be wise in me to see her."
He was still pacing the study when Ali returned. The Nubian's usually impassible face bore traces of excitement and horror. He prostrated himself at his master's feet and, with his visage pressed against the floor, held up his hand, presenting to the Count the identical letter of which he had been the bearer.
"Why, how is this, Ali?" asked the Count, frowning. "My letter sent back without an answer. The seal has been broken, too. It must have been read."
The mute slowly arose and began an eloquent pantomime which his master readily translated into words: "You went to the Hôtel de France and sent up the letter. In ten minutes it was returned to you by the lady's valet, who said all the answer the Count of Monte-Cristo deserved from his mistress was written on the back."
Ali nodded his head in confirmation of his master's translation, looking as if he expected to be severely reprimanded for being the bearer of such an indignity. The Count, however, merely smiled. Curiosity rather than anger predominated in him. He turned the letter over and read, scrawled in pencil in a woman's hand, the following brief and enigmatical but insulting communication: "Any Frenchman save the ignominious M. Dantès, the so-called Count of Monte-Cristo, would be welcome to Mlle. d' Armilly. That person she does not wish to see and will not."
The Count was perplexed and also amused. The fervor of the prima donna made him smile. He certainly did not know her, certainly had never seen her. Why then was she so bitter against him? He could make nothing out of it. Was it possible her name was really as familiar to him as it had seemed? The irate artiste had surely heard of the Count of Monte-Cristo and, therefore, could not be mistaken in regard to his identity, but in what way could he have injured her or incurred her anger? The more he thought of the matter the more perplexed he grew. As he was debating within himself what action he ought to take, there was a knock at the door and a domestic entered, handing him a card upon which was inscribed: "Captain Joliette."
"Ha!" cried Monte-Cristo, "he comes in time. He will aid me in solving this mystery."
He motioned Ali from the study, and directed the valet who had brought the card to show the visitor up at once. In another instant Captain Joliette entered the room. The Count sprang forward to greet him.