On the same day that Madame Danglars met with the prosecutor, a sleek carriage rolled through the iron gates of number 27 and came to a stop in the courtyard. The door swung open, and Madame de Morcerf stepped out, her hand resting on her son's arm for support.
Albert helped his mother inside, then quickly changed into fresh clothes and headed straight for the Champs-Élysées district, where the mysterious Count of Monte Cristo lived.
The Count greeted him with his usual smile which was polite, perfectly controlled, and somehow distant despite its warmth. It was strange, really. No matter how hard anyone tried to get close to this man, there was always an invisible wall between them. Even now, as Albert approached with genuine friendliness, he felt that chill. Instead of the embrace he'd intended, he simply extended his hand.
Monte Cristo shook it coolly, as he always did.
"Here I am, dear Count," Albert said, trying to sound casual.
"Welcome back."
"I just arrived an hour ago."
