The Count, who had been forced to conceal the manner in which his property had been restored, told his friends, Taddeo, d'Harcourt and Von Apsberg, that certain important funds had been recovered from the general wreck; and they, delighted with his good fortune, did not fail to congratulate him. The world was more curious; the enemies of the Count especially, who were ultra-monarchists, were numerous, active, and malicious. They wrote to Naples, and ascertained that the ruin of Monte-Leone was total, acquiring also certainty that he had no funds in any European bank, and no property. They therefore made an outcry of astonishment when they saw all the external appearance of opulence in the possession of one they knew without the means of so splendid and imposing an establishment. The Count knew nothing of this, and continued his old life. It is, all know, true that rumors of this kind reach their object last of all, when they are calculated to be injurious.
One of the dominant ideas which actuated us in the preparation of this history, we can here dwell upon, and we ask leave to do so briefly. There exists in French society, polished and elegant as it is, a hideous monster known to all, though no one disturbs it. Its ravages are great; almost incalculable. It saps reputations, poisons, dishonors, and defiles the splendor of the most estimable fame. This minotaurus, which devours so many innocent persons, is especially fearful, because its blows are terrible. It presents itself under the mildest and gentlest forms, and is received every where in the city. We find it in our rooms, in the interior of our families, in the palaces of the opulent, and the garrets of the poor. It has no name, being a mere figure of speech, a very word. It is composed of but one phrase, and is called—They say. "Do you know such a one?" is often asked, and the person is pointed out.
"No; but they say his morals are very bad. He has had strange adventures, and his family is very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"No, I know nothing about it. But they say so."
"This young woman, so beautiful, so brilliant, so much admired—Do you know her?"
"No. They say that it is not difficult to please her, and that more than one has done so."
"But she appears so decent, so reserved."
"Certainly; but they say——"
"Do not trust that gentleman who has such credit and is thought so rich. Be on your guard—"