Clary had accepted this explanation without putting confidence in it; she saw that Mercedes tried to hide something from her and that vexed her.
Madame Caraman had the next day called for her protégée, and in walking home together, she said:
"Do you know, Clary, what I have heard to-day—the Count of Monte Cristo is said to be in Marseilles."
"Well, what is there remarkable in that?" Clary calmly asked. "Have you not seen him then?"
"Seen him—where?" responded Madame Caraman, stupefied.
"Dear me, he just left as I came to Madame Joliette. You were waiting outside the house and could not have failed to see him."
"Oh, Lord! could the gentleman who rode off with the Zouave have been the count?" remarked Madame Caraman, quickly.
"No doubt; a slender, pale man, with dark hair."
"That I should not have known it!—where must my eyes have been?" lamented Madame Caraman, and in the meantime both had reached the villa, and Clary said carelessly: