A shadow crossed the Viscount's handsome visage, but it was gone in an instant, and he said, with the utmost politeness:
"Pray be seated, my dear Count, and before proceeding to business refresh yourself with a glass of rare old Burgundy. Here, Stephano, wine and glasses."
M. Dantès sat down in an arm-chair precisely resembling that from which the Viscount had arisen; Massetti resumed his seat and the valet brought the old Burgundy and glasses, placing the decanter and drinking vessels on a small table of glistening ebony between his master and the Deputy. After they had duly drunk each other's health, M. Dantès said:
"I regret, my dear Viscount, that I am compelled to disturb you, but my business was too urgent for delay."
"You don't disturb me in the least. Pray proceed."
"You remember your conversation with my daughter just before you and she parted, do you not?"
"I remember it," replied the Viscount, coloring slightly and evidently growing ill at ease.
"In that case, neither preface nor explanation is necessary. I called to ask you a few plain questions."
The Italian was now a prey to singular excitement; he grew pale and flushed by turns, finally rising and pacing the salon in great agitation.
"Count," said he, abruptly, when he could command his voice, "you are a man of the world and a cosmopolitan, and, of course, you know that one often commits folly, especially when the ardent and uncontrollable blood of youth is rushing through his veins. With this explanation, imperfect though it be, I must ask you to rest satisfied, for it is utterly out of my power to give you any other, or to enter into the details of the unfortunate affair which has brought you here. I assure you, however, that I am altogether blameless in the matter; investigation will abundantly establish the truth of what I say."