All language subtitles for the.count.of.monte.cristo.[le.comte.de.monte.cristo].1998.2of4.fr.ws.dvdrip.xvid-sprinter

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO

Welcome, your lordship.

I mean, Your Highness...

Your Grace...

My friend,
I am merely a starving man.

Come.

No, no...
Use this.

You're right.
I must be careful

that my manners
don't betray my identity.

Since you were the servant of a count,

you can teach me
the customs of high society.

Firstly,
a count as rich as yourself

must never appear hungry.

All right.

No, no.

What? Can't one drink wine?

Yes, but in moderation.

With great moderation.

Like this.
Moderately, and...

With a touch of disdain,
as if it were vinegar.

And laughter...
Is it allowed?

A true count laughs discreetly,
as if coughing.

People from high society

are meant to be bored to death with life.

What idiots.

No, no!

Take your serviette,
just the corner.

There, delicately.

Very well.

Listen here, Bertuccio.

Let's start from the beginning.

You'll teach me... .

Good manners.

You'll give me lessons
on posture and habits.

You'll teach me to be an idiot.
Or how to pretend.

Beauchamp, you're here.

The latest edition,
here it is!

Everything on today's trial.

Death for Gervaise Rebuffet!

You're being a bit hasty.

Villefort's summing up
is this afternoon.

He'll hand down
the death penalty.

As usual.

And tomorrow
his daughter Valentine

will stroll through the woods
wearing blue ribbons.

Why not?

Mademoiselle de Villefort is ravishing.

I used to see her in the street.

She used to visit
her grandmother in Marseille.

Albert...

I'm starving.
When do we eat?

We are awaiting
the Count of Monte Cristo.

Who?

His Excellency,
the Count of Monte Cristo.

My friends, this is the man
to whom I owe my life,

and who hardly gave me
the chance to thank him.

Something I am happy to do today,
before you all.

By the way, Count,

how did you manage
to tear me away from my abductors?

I negotiated with them, Viscount.

Money buys everything,
even the life of a man.

Maximilien Morrel,
my dear Count, from--

Marseille, yes?

How did you know?

I simply heard your name
pronounced by my friend,

Lord Wilmore.

If he is your friend--

It is only a
business relationship.

He sometimes gives me
good advice

regarding the management
of my fortune,

which is a complicated affair.

He's revolting.
Does he care only for money?

And while my servant and I chased them,

brandishing our scimitars,

the camels finally disappeared
behind the dunes.

We returned to our tents,

under the sparkling
desert sky,

where we shared
the most succulent roast

I have ever had
the pleasure of savoring.

You are an amazing storyteller!

What if this dreadful sheik
had captured you?

- He would have put us in prison.
- And that doesn't bother you?

Obviously you know
nothing of imprisonment.

And you do, Sir?

Well, during the famous
July Revolution, I was ...

July Revolution?

Excuse my ignorance, but...

I was away from France
for such a long time.

It was three days of riots
that crowned King Louis-Phillipe.

Beauchamp bravely defended the riots

and was arrested.

Like a common thief.

I spent three days in jail.

Three days and three nights.

You can't imagine what I endured
in seventy-two hours.

Without wanting to minimize your ordeal,

I personally knew someone

who was submerged
in the darkness of a dungeon

for 175,200 hours.

Damnation! Tell us!
I'll write about it in my paper.

- Yes, tell us.
- It sounds exciting!

No. You are too merry
and carefree

to know what despair is.

You really think so?

And what of two people who love...
and are thwarted?

Well...

Well, well.

I'd rather tell you the story
of three Benghazi camel drivers.

One day, I made the decision

to buy a white she-camel.

They're under your spell.
They think you incredible, amazing.

Even Beauchamp, the viper,
thinks you'll have Paris at your feet.

I'm glad to honor you, Viscount.
But now I must beg your leave.

Not before
you have met my parents.

They can't wait to express their gratitude.

Especially my mother.

You spoke of me to your mother?

What did she say?

She was anxious to meet you.

The feeling is mutual.

My father is passionate
about horse races.

Would you race
at the Jockey Club?

It's unavoidable for making
an impression in Paris.

Honestly, Viscount,
nothing could surpass

such a magnificent animal.

- And yet...
- And yet?

Nothing.

May I introduce to you
the Count of Monte Cristo.

Monsieur de Monte Cristo, at last.

I had lost all hope
of ever meeting you.

We owe you--

Nothing at all, Madam.

Anyone in my position
would have.

Come closer, Sir.

Please.

We close the curtains
due to the heat, but...

I wish to see you in the light.

Please, Madam,
leave the curtains as they are.

Bright light burns my eyes.

I have become
like a bird of the night.

The reflection of the sun
on the sands of Arabia...

Damaged my eyesight.

Did you cover the whole Orient?

I lived there.

A long time?

Just over twenty years.

- A wonderful place, isn't it?
- Yes.

And cruel.

True. They practice
hideously refined tortures.

As in France.

Thank God
we have abolished torture!

There are other means
of making a man suffer.

Much less violent perhaps,

but worse in that
we can prolong them for years.

Well, what a conversation!

We are here to rejoice.

My lord of Monte Cristo,
would you like a cup of coffee?

My dear, what is wrong?

Are you unwell, Mother?

- How pale you are!
- It's nothing.

A hot flush.

This end of summer
is suffocating.

I hope you have chosen
to reside

on the banks of the Seine, my lord.

The river is so refreshing.

At least when it doesn't invade you
with its stench.

In fact, where do you reside?

At the Hotel de Monte Cristo.

Obviously, but where?

It's an excellent address
I have yet to find.

Leave it, Sir.

I always lose anyway.

I play to please Fernand.

You don't like chess?

My wife thinks the games
go on forever.

That's quite right.

I myself began one
twenty years ago.

It's not over yet?

It will soon reach its end.

In fact...

My opponent is already checkmate,
but doesn't know it.

It's the most jubilant moment of the game.

Yes, come in!

For the Count of Monte Cristo
from signor Bertuccio.

It's my intendant.
Please excuse me.

The Plain of Monceau.

- I'm sorry?
- Well, yes...

You asked my address.
The Plain of Monceau.

It's nearly the countryside.

Solitude.

I'm used to it.

You might lessen
my solitude, Madam,

with an occasional visit.

Kind Sir,
forgive my leaving,

but I must go
to the Law Courts.

I promised to hear
Mr. de Villefort's summing up.

He is no longer in Marseille?

No, no.
He was appointed to Paris...

How long ago, Merc�d�s?

Nearly twenty years.

Twenty years!

Would you like to hear him?

I didn't dare ask.

I hope, Madam,
that your discomfort has eased.

My God, yes, I...

Yes.

Who is this Gervaise Rebuffet
on trial today?

An abortionist.

But what does
the crime matter?

Justice is like
the Spanish bullfights.

The bull is only there
to highlight the fighter.

Excuse me.

This woman...

Why am I saying "woman"?

Does she deserve
to be called a woman?

This child killer!

You can't say that!

The word "child"
is unsuitable.

I remind the court
that the Rebuffet woman

is not accused
of infanticide, but--

Of being an "angel maker,"
too nice a term

to define
this diabolical crime...Yes!

Gervaise Rebuffet
killed children.

And she did it
in the most loathsome of ways.

She put them to their death
in their mothers' wombs.

This temple of life
which she profaned.

This most sacred of havens she violated!

How many times
have you savagely destroyed

what I at least feel to be

the most precious thing on earth?

A child.

Even if you had done it once,

it would still be
once too often.

The fact remains that
when the guillotine's blade

strikes you,
Gervaise Rebuffet,

it will not
make of you an angel

for you belong in hell!

If you wish to attend
the execution

I can obtain a pass for you.

Unfortunately,
it's very early, but...

It must be awe-inspiring
to see justice at work.

My friend, once again
you honor your reputation.

It wasn't such an effort.
When it concerns childhood...

His Excellency,
the Count of Monte Cristo.

Mr. de Villefort, Crown Prosecutor.

Excuse me one moment,

I must collect a document

regarding an important matter.

Please.

- Who cleans here?
- I'm sorry?

The floor, who cleans it?
Who does the cleaning?

Cleaners, I imagine
Why do you ask, Sir?

Did you see how the accused wept?

Yes. She sought pity
from the jurors.

But to no avail.

I feel sorry for the one
who has to mop up all those tears.

You know, they dry very quickly.

This way.

The Chateau d'If.

The most dreaded prison
in the kingdom.

When I was at Marseille
I added to its population.

Why did you leave Marseille?

You didn't like it?

Embarrassing question, Count.

But I'll forget my modesty
and answer you.

I was granted a promotion.

For services rendered?

- Yes, of course.
- To whom?

To whom?

To justice, Sir.

To the cause of justice.

Do not resent me if I seem indiscreet.

It's the first time I have been
face to face with a prosecutor.

And you're impressed, of course

It intrigues me.

You hand out
such terrifying sentences,

haven't you ever
entertained any doubts?

- Doubts?
- Yes.

No.

Any regrets?

It is the accused
who should have regrets.

Not I.

You never have regrets?

Never.

Which means you are not afraid
to appear before God

when it's your turn to be judged?

Well...

No. I have my conscience.

I am the same.

I've never feared death.

Except if it came too early,

and stopped me
from accomplishing the huge task

I have set for myself.

A task?

You'll find this amusing.

It's to do justice.

- Do justice, you?
- Me.

But you cannot, Sir.

What dreadful confusion if anyone
could exercise justice!

Of course, I know
you're not just anyone.

The magistrates are there
to do justice.

Rest assured...

I had no intention of flouting men's justice.

- There exists no other.
- Yes!

Yes, there does.

The one we are presently invoking.

God's justice.

Excuse me.

My daughter, Valentine,
the Count of Monte Cristo.

My dear child, to what do I owe
this surprise visit?

Father, I just learned
the most unexpected news.

I don't know if...

You may speak in my lord's presence.

He was just saying
he could take God's place.

And as God knows all,
nothing you say will surprise him.

Is it true that Franz d'Epinay,

who was meant to serve
another year in Algeria,

will soon return to Paris?

It is true
that I used certain contacts

to obtain his return.

Sir, you are the first
to hear that my daughter

and Viscount Franz d'Epinay
will soon be engaged.

Don't let me
prevent mademoiselle

from openly expressing her joy.

My apologies
to the Count of Morcerf.

Here you are again!

What the devil are you doing here?

At your age you should be
in a cabaret not in a courtroom.

- Are you in trouble?
- No, Sir.

Not at all.

Good day, my lord.

- What is it?
- The worst ever.

Franz d'Epinay is returning from Algeria...

Go!

Watch out!

Your Honor,
I beg of you...

He is all I have.
Don't kill him!

Have mercy on him, Sir...
Mercy!

What did she want?

Mercy for her son
who is to be guillotined.

But don't let such
a trifle upset you.

Welcome home, master.
You have a beautiful new home.

Bertuccio did well.

- Are you all settled?
- Don't worry about us.

I made you travel far, Muhammad.

I don't want you to regret it.

Do not worry for us.
The only sad one is young Hassan.

- Why is he sad?
- Because he can't see the ocean

Tomorrow, hire some laborers
to dig a pond.

I want it to be
as large as possible.

Papyrus growing
on the banks,

like the ones in Alexandria.

The water must be blue
and full of fish.

It's like reading the Bible.

"And God created
land and sea."

It's for young Hassan
that I try to be God.

He misses the sea.

It's certain
that this is not Marseille.

You have here over thirty rooms.

In the kitchen you have
a chef, a sauce cook,

a pastry chef
and seven kitchen boys.

Take note.

My people will enjoy
one day off a week.

One day? That's too much.
It's normal for servants--

This is my home
and people will live by my rules.

But people will be shocked.

I hope so.

It is to shock,
stun, amaze, fascinate

and finally to confuse
that I came to Paris.

Close the door.

Bertuccio...

You know who I am, don't you?

If you want me to know, yes.

If not, then I don't.

Say my name, Bertuccio.
My real name.

I haven't heard it for so long.

Are you sure?
You won't regret it?

Please. Say it.

Captain Edmond Dant�s.
I am at your service.

Captain Edmond Dant�s...

It's so good to hear it.

Yes, but very dangerous.

If someone recognized you?

Impossible.
The mask is perfect.

Even Villefort didn't know.

Your appearance, yes,
but the voice.

Having ignored the cries
of Edmond Dant�s,

Villefort would never recognize
the voice of Monte Cristo.

Villefort, maybe.
But what about her?

Her?

Her, Count.

The former fianc�e
of Captain Dant�s.

Merc�d�s is still
just as beautiful.

More so, perhaps.

That is what I heard.

Beauty can come from pain.

But did she suffer,
even slightly?

She seems so at ease
with her lavish life

to which she was not destined.

If you had seen her
running in the heath,

bare feet, her hair untied...

A real little savage.

Where has the sun
of the heathland gone?

How dark the night is
over Paris.

But here the stars are chandeliers
in the theaters,

the brasserie lights,

the carriages
that light up the lanes.

Bertuccio...

I need a woman.

You want me
to find you a woman?

A woman I can take
to the theater, to brasseries,

whose hand I can hold
to help her into carriages.

It was you who gave me the idea,
if not the desire.

I talk too much, I know.
It's a typical Italian fault.

Isn't a pretty woman
an essential asset

for a rich stranger
on vacation in Paris?

Would I be credible
without a woman at my side?

But I don't know your tastes.

I insist only upon one thing...

In no way can she remind me
of Merc�d�s de Morcerf.

What I need is a blonde.

And more doll-like
than wild.

Her eyes will be blue,

a slight accent,
but certainly not Spanish,

and lastly,
she must not be a countess.

Hello.

Nice day.

My name is Bertuccio.

- Can we talk?
- What about?

I have just found
a very interesting sort.

A sort? The Baroness Caroline of
Jouy-Maubert?

You're calling
the Baroness a "sort"?

She's a baroness?
Perfect!

If she were a countess,
she'd be no good.

- But a baroness is fine.
- She's my employer, rascal!

Piece of filth! Get down! Get down!

Stop it, you'll scare the horses.

My compliments, Baroness,
and also my regrets.

What a shame! She would
have been really perfect.

My dear Baron,
how could you, a great banker,

be so fearful?

Listen, Danglars, everyone knows
the railway is the future.

Mr. Arago disagrees.

And Mr. Arago is the greatest physician
of our times.

He says that when your railways

disappear into a tunnel at the outrageous
speed of 30 km per hour,

the poor passengers
will suffocate to death

due to the unbearable pressure.

I'm sorry, but I did not
found the Danglars Bank

to participate
in such atrocities.

I take pride in being
an honest and scrupulous man.

Whoever mentioned
such ridiculous speeds?

At present, they reach speeds
of 17 km per hour.

And that's only downhill.

Can't you see I'm in a meeting?

This man claims
it would be improper

to make him wait.

Send him away!

The Count of Monte Cristo?

Never heard of him.

I have.

From what I know

he's an Italian aristocrat
or something like that

who has just arrived in Paris.

I see. Another pauper.

One of those wretched �migr�s.

Napoleon invaded Europe,
now it's our turn!

Wrong, Baron!

Monte Cristo's fortune

is reputed as being colossal.

Absolutely colossal!

Do you think he wants to
entrust it to the Danglars Bank?

That changes everything!

Excuse me, gentlemen.
We will resume later.

Naturally, your reputation

has preceded you.

It is an honor
for our bank to welcome you.

Now, down to business.

How much are you
entrusting to us?

No amount, Sir.

No amount?

I came not to bring you money
but to ask you for some.

- From me?
- Well yes. Are you not a banker?

Yes, but...

I have here a letter
from Thomson & French

entitling me to unlimited
credit with your bank.

Unlimited credit...
What's this all about?

It seems rather clear.

This means that
during my stay in Paris,

which is planned to last a year,

I will be able to withdraw
as much money as I please.

That's unheard of!

Obviously, if Thompson & French
brought me here,

they trusted the integrity
of your establishment.

Now, Sir,

if the Danglars Bank
lacks the capacity

to fulfill this credit,

I will inform
Thompson & French

and take my business
to another bank.

No, no!
Wait, calm down.

In no way would I displease
Thompson & French,

who is our largest
correspondent in Europe.

It's just that the word
unlimited, well...

Let's see, how much
do you think you'll need?

Right now?

- I'd say--
- I'll be generous.

- One million.
- One million?

It's a lot, but as you're
with Thompson & French...

One million?

Don't thank me...
It's enormous, I know,

but the Danglars Bank is young
and we need to uphold our reputation.

Six.

Six what?

Six million.

You want six million francs?

To begin with.

Six million...

500,000 of which
I want immediately.

Half gold, half notes.

500,000 just like that,
right now?

Sir...

Just as unlimited credit
has a meaning,

so does the word
immediately.

You meet one of the world's
richest men,

and instead of persuading him
to fill your safes,

you let him empty them.

You'll be a laughing stock.

You know nothing
of high finance, my dear.

I know.

To you, I'm good for nothing.

Not even to give you a son.
You've said it often.

I never asked you for a son.

I would have been satisfied
with a girl.

Don't be a hypocrite.
I know very well you wanted an heir.

Naturally, I am unhappy
that the Danglars Bank

will be passed on to strangers
after me.

Rest assured,
young Morcerf will buy your bank.

His father can afford
such a toy.

And the Morcerfs
are not really strangers.

Meaning?

A peer of France is a nice customer
for a bank to have.

A peer of France with whom
we had fun in Marseille.

Fun? What do you mean?

Come to bed, Hermine.
Tomorrow is Jockey Club day.

Will your famous Monte Cristo be there?

I imagine so.

Is he racing?

I only just gave him
the six million.

He won't have time by tomorrow

to buy a horse, train it, find a jockey...

Monte Cristo may be rich indeed,

but he is not God!

Was it infamous Father Faria
who taught you chemistry?

He was a good teacher,

but we had no way
of checking our formulas.

Our laboratory was in here.

What are you planning
to do with all this?

To begin with, I will humiliate
the Count of Morcerf

by beating him
at the Jockey Club race.

- With which horse?
- Noiraud.

Noiraud?

You will enter him
under the name Pharaon.

Changing his name
won't make him run faster.

Noiraud is a nice horse,
but he's a nag.

He won't last ten meters.

You'll empty the contents into his trough.

Is it some sort of tonic?

You are holding the elixir
capable of transforming

a mere spark into a shining star.

Do we know who owns Pharaon?

An Englishman, Lord Wilmore.

Did you see him?
What's he like?

He wasn't even at the course.

Wonderful! Beaten by
an invisible Englishman

whose horse looks
more like a skeleton!

But Count,
it's not your horse's fault!

I'm so sorry, Fernand.

I know how important this race was.

Not just to me.

Our friend Danglars
bet 3000 francs on my horse.

Villefort also bet on my colors.

I was ridiculed.

Stop grooming.

Tomorrow he'll be put down.

- But, Count--
- That's how it is.

Being beaten by a horse
who is nothing but a nag.

Janina is not worth
the oats I buy him.

- Take him to the abattoir.
- That's unfair, Sir!

It's just that the other horse won.

If you don't do it, I will.

Prepare the carriage for me.

Where are you going?
It's time for dinner.

I have lost my appetite.

Incredible!

Do we stop here, Countess?

Yes.

- We are going.
- Where to, Countess?

Wherever, I don't care.
But drive fast.

It is stifling tonight.

The Countess of Morcerf
is a very beautiful woman.

Yes.

If your father intervened
to bring d'Epinay back to Paris

before the end of his service in Algeria,

it was to hasten
your marriage.

Trust me, Maximilien,
this marriage will not take place.

It's you I will marry.

Your father won't consent.

He has ambitions for you
and I am too poor.

Poor?
But you are not that poor.

Aren't you a ship owner?

Misfortune fell upon our house.

The boats were engulfed
one after the other.

I have only one boat left, the Pharaon.

- Then buy some more.
- What with?

I went to see Baron Danglars
about my project.

Forget Danglars, we have an ally.
My grandfather.

To him, Epinay is a cursed name.

He would do anything
to stop me from having it.

But what can he do, Valentine?

Your affection
for your grandfather

makes you forget he's paralyzed.

He cannot speak.

He makes himself understood
by blinking his eyes.

My last chance is Monte Cristo.

He is rich and generous.

I'm not sure why,
but I think he likes me.

Maybe he could lend me money.

Not him.

His wealth may be too blatant
to be totally honest.

My father has ordered
an investigation.

Be careful, Maximilien.

Do not compromise yourself.
He could be arrested.

Yes. In a different way,

Madame De La Richardais
isn't bad either.

Who is she?

You sent me on a mission
to find you a...

A mistress, yes.
Say things as they are.

Let's just say
your future mistress,

what I mean is
"possible" future mistress,

is 31, and her name is
Camille De La Richardais.

She is blonde
and of great virtue.

But women's virtue--

No, no.
This woman is incredibly faithful.

So what do we do with her husband?

She's faithful to the memory
of her husband.

- She is widowed.

- Really? At 31?
- A duel gone wrong.

She is an angel,
cloistered in her home in Auteuil.

She goes out on Fridays
to confession.

Well, let's see this angel.

Deus vobiscum, Father.

Who are you?
How did you get in?

The door was open, as it should be
in the house of God.

I'm expecting someone.

Your Friday penitent,
Madame de la Richardais.

How do you know this?

- I am her uncle.
- You?

The dear child's uncle is a priest?

- A Jesuit.
- My word!

Allow me to replace you
for her confession.

That would suit me

since we never know
when your niece will come

to be reconciled with the Lord.

With my rheumatism and swelling,

I must wait for her
in this damp church.

Return then to your presbytery

where you can read
your Bible by the fire.

Thank you, my dear brother.
Thank you.

In case you get bored
waiting for your niece,

in here you will find
some reading.

I no longer know
where to put my books.

I particularly recommend
the monograph I wrote

on the wild boar.

Varaha, in the Hindu tradition

according to
its Hyperborean origins.

It's amusing, you'll see.

You have a collection
of "Le Messager" newspaper.

I would gladly consult
the year 1815.

Ah, yes.

It's the year of my ordination.

"The mystery of the murder of
General d'Epinay in Paris."

"Certain unconfirmed claims

at first surrounded
Mr. Noirtier,

residing Rue du Coq-Heron,

whose anti-Bonapartist ideas

opposed those of d'Epinay."

"D'Epinay felt
Napoleon must be prevented

from ever returning to France."

My God!

Faria was right. That was it!
The letter from the Isle of Elba.

Villefort thought
I had read the letter.

With me in jail, he'd kill two birds
with one stone.

He protected his father

and rendered a favor
unto the monarchy.

A favor which was
apparently well rewarded.

Forgive me Father
for I have sinned.

You're not alone.

My respects, Your Honor.

So, Boville.

How goes your investigation?

Prudently, Sir.

We mustn't arouse
Monte Cristo's suspicions.

Firstly, I will gather
as much as I can.

From whom?

My agents have identified

a man who seems to know him well

A Jesuit priest
by the name of Busoni.

He lives behind Saint-Sulpice.
I'll see him tonight.

A priest?

Be careful around priests.

The King's Attorney
answers to the King,

priests answer to God.

Today, everyone knows
that God is just an idea.

We must watch that our ideas
don't overtake us.

Go on.

You won't give me absolution,
will you, Father?

I know. This sin of greed
I commit every night in my dreams

is abominable.

But I can't resist!

But it's no sin, Madam.

You love roast lamb, game,

eel makes you go weak,

you could never resist
a dozen oysters,

you weep for joy
before grilled sausage,

you are wild about
Cherry Clafoutis. So?

Who the devil, if I dare say,
do you think God is?

Don't think of God as a killjoy.

A creator who blessed
the world with such beauty

can't be dismal and narrow-minded.

He cares about your soul,

not about what you stuff
into your mouth.

Especially such a pretty mouth,
Madam.

Father!

I'm sorry to disturb you, Count.

Please understand
I haven't come for money.

All I am asking
is that you talk to Baron Danglars

so he reconsiders his position.

He will reconsider, my boy.

I assure you.

We will teach Mr. Danglars
a lesson or two.

It's late, Sir.
You have to get ready.

I forgot every night
is a party for you.

How lucky you are!

Where to tonight?
French or Italian opera?

Tonight, I am performing.

This game is going to be tricky!

What if Boville arrests you?

To arrest me,

he would need to know who I am.

If he recognizes you?

Because he was prison intendant

and occasionally inspected
the Chateau d'If?

If Merc�d�s didn't recognize me,
Boville won't.

A woman in love is one thing,

but a policeman is another.

Which loving woman
are you talking about?

If Merc�d�s had loved Edmond Dant�s

she'd never have married Fernand.

So,

you wish to know
who the Count of Monte Cristo is.

Who he really is.

If you happen
to actually know.

The Count is one of my penitents.

Interesting.
Very interesting.

But I am bound by
the confessional.

Annoying.
Very annoying.

But I can reveal one small thing

Excellent, excellent!

One word will suffice.

This man...

Is the Devil.

- How do you mean?
- As you are.

I don't really believe
in the Devil.

- Do I shock you?
- No.

But I am surprised.

I thought you had met him.

The Devil?

No. The damned.

Have you never descended into hell,
Mr. de Boville?

When you did the rounds of the prisons,

don't you remember the screams,

the moaning,

the protests, the despair?

Like so many others,
do you have a short memory?

How do you know these things?

I was one of those damned.

Your name?

I am the Abb� Faria.

Faria?

Faria...
I remember the name.

The Chateau d'If, Boville.

You will pay
for the Chateau d'If!

For your indifference
to suffering.

One day you will pay!

Not to me, but to God!

God does not exist.

I am sure of it.

Yes?

- Dinner is served, Madam.
- What is it?

We have watercress soup,
followed by partridge fricassee

and stewed rhubarb.

But since partridge
was so expensive,

Madam will be content
with the watercress and rhubarb.

Oh well, I'll just pretend it's Lent,
that's all.

Madam, the Count of Monte Cristo
wishes to apologize

for the audacious manner
of his introduction.

But since he is in Paris,

not a day goes by
without hearing about you.

Having lost hope of meeting you
at the French Opera,

the Italian Opera
or at court...

How can I go out, Sir?

I am destitute
since the death of my husband.

I had to sell my jewelry--

The fact remains
that the unhappy Monte Cristo,

unable to bear your absence,

decided to do what he often
observed in the East.

To approach a person
reputed as inaccessible,

one takes
one's caravanserai to their door.

Madam, my caravanserai.

Please excuse its scarcity!

To be honest, Sir,
I don't understand...

But since all these delicacies await us,

shall we be seated?

- You will serve us, Marie.
- Don't worry.

I thought of that too.

What is that?

I can't wait to try it.

Serve me some of those
black things in the metal bowl.

Caviar, Madam,
and the bowl is Vermeil.

And you, Sir.
Won't you have some?

At first,
some flavors disconcert,

but as a whole,
it ii absolutely delicious.

I am devouring you with my eyes.
That fulfills me.

And to think that I was condemned to
watercress and rhubarb!

All the same,
why are you doing all of this?

I told you already.
To know you better.

I'm far too poor
to be interesting.

When you know who I am
you will be disappointed.

My only disappointment

is that you haven't
tried the ortolan yet.

Bertuccio!

Get up, Bertuccio.

- It's still dark...
- Get up, you have a busy day.

I want you to send
the best dressmaker to Auteuil,

the most inspired hairdresser,
the most prestigious jeweler.

Don't worry about the cost.
I have unlimited credit.

- Sir...
- Yes?

Does that mean the supper
was to your liking?

Exquisite, Bertuccio, exquisite.

She was exquisite too.

Faster! Giddy up!

The Chappe Telegraph Network
now has 534 stations,

towers, pigeon houses,
old keeps or church steeples,

creating a relay between
24 of the main towns of France.

As you can see,

I am in charge of
the last relay before Paris.

Progress, how admirable!
You must be proud to work here.

Except that
I have to climb up there.

One of these days
I'll break a bone.

Then, with the winter wind
that howls through the tower,

it's easy to catch cold.

I can imagine, but aren't you
compensated for that?

- What do you earn a year?
- One thousand francs, Sir.

Of course, I have accommodation

and a plot of land
to grow my vegetables,

but 1000 francs!
A starvation wage!

And how will I live when
I can't climb any more?

I suppose that the administration
will pay you a pension.

Some pension!

What if I offered you
25,000 francs?

That's a fortune!

What do you want in exchange?

You send a telegram
I will dictate.

We are only allowed to transmit messages
from another station.

Thirty thousand?

Thirty-five thousand?

There. No more steps.
No more north wind.

Is it decent at least,
your telegram?

It's a question of justice, not of decency.

Mrs. Sevenet, are you happy
with your purchase from the hat shop?

I told you it was a good deal.

Well, well...
the excellent Mr. Tucherer.

Making a fortune with the hoops
and the skipping ropes?

Beauchamp!

A telegram just arrived
at my newspaper.

Come.

At first I thought
it must be for Baron Danglars.

How much do you want this time?

It's like this. I've just started seeing
an adorable dancer...

But she's a bit...
You see?

200 francs should be
more than enough to keep her.

She is perfect all over,

except for her teeth, perhaps.

She's money-hungry.

I'm sure you can afford
five hundred.

Three hundred.

At that price, the poor child
may as well work the streets.

They all do it.
Now, quickly. The telegram.

"The exiled King of Spain
is going home."

"Catalonia is at war."

- Barcelona--
- United under the Carlist banner.

Spain is sliding into chaos.

I have 500,000 francs
in Spanish shares.

When my paper
publishes the news tomorrow,

your shares won't be worth
the paper they're printed on.

But I'll have already sold them.

Thanks, Beauchamp.

Decidedly, Danglars,
you are king of the stock exchange.

The Baron started an avalanche

by selling
his Spanish shares.

Great intuition!

Unless he can read tea leaves,

how could he predict
the Spanish mess?

What if King Don Carlos' attempt fails?

What if he fails to take
the throne from Isabella II?

The information I received
leaves no doubt.

Before tonight, Don Carlos
will be at the Guadarrama

and will make his triumphant entry
into the Escorial.

My congratulations, Baron!

In your haste,

I hope you didn't sell
your shares at a loss.

Well, of course.
But the loss was minimal.

Really?

It's the poor wretches
who still have them

who'll receive
an almighty hammering!

Count...

Mr. Danglars,
I must speak with you.

My dear Beauchamp,
is your dancer happy?

Well, yes, my dancer...

I have the latest edition
of the Messager

With a denial.

Don Carlos never left Bourges.

What do you mean?

- Then...
- Then nothing.

Don Carlos is in Bourges,
Isabella II in Madrid.

And Spain continues
to play its castanets,

serene and tranquil
under the sun.

A joke!
You showed me a telegram...

That was a fake!

It seems that
the telegraphist

had a fit of insanity.

He escaped, leaving his post unattended.
Here, read it.

The Spanish are climbing!

I'll buy! Yes, I'll buy!

Is something the matter, Baron!

In one hour, Count,

the Spanish loans
will have probably doubled

yesterday's value.

So what I lost
selling them

and the lost profit
due to their climb,

those shares
will have cost me a million francs.

At best.

That is the incredibly wealthy Italian Count.

Italian?
Monte Cristo is not Italian.

He's originally
from Malta.

Are you sure?
I was told he was Turkish.

When I think that my father
was invited to the King's box.

I wish I could be there.
And you, Madam?

Valentine, I have already asked you
not to call me Madam.

I have been your
father's wife long enough...

To act as if
we were best friends.

Yes, I know.

I saw the Count of Monte Cristo.

He already has his own box?

No. And since I feel indebted
to him for our son,

I invited him to share ours.

"Les Huguenots,
music by Mr. Meyerbeer,

libretto by Mr. Scribe."

Oh, yes. Les Huguenots.

It looks like we're to have
another hilarious evening.

Don't you have anything juicy to tell me?

Sire, I am charged with justice,
not your amusements.

Under my predecessors,

we spent more time
having fun.

Today, France's only obsession
is to get richer.

I don't govern the French,

I breed fattened calves.

Always the same thick necks,

the same hunched shoulders.

Someone new.

That man with the Count of Morcerf,
I don't think I know him.

A foreigner, Sire,
who moved to Paris recently.

I'd be pleased to introduce him,

but it would be best to await the inquiry.

Inquiry?

A formality.

We wish to investigate
his seemingly immense fortune--

I don't see that fortune
is incompatible with virtue.

What's this new trend of suspecting
anyone who is slightly affluent?

I too have a fortune.

Sire, but you are King.

That's what they said to Louis XVI.

Leave Monte Cristo in peace.

Besides, Mr. de Morcerf
invited him to his box.

Do you not see that
as a guarantee? I do.

The King knows you?

Don't be jealous.
You know me better than he does.

This is the third time
I've met you.

Too late,
the drama has started...

Thank you, Sir.
I am so happy to be here.

The one night we don't attend,
the King is there.

Losing a million
on the stock market

is like losing someone
close to you.

One has the decency
to stay at home.

You think yourself
more important than you are.

Who cares that you lost a million?

In any case,

I'll get it back.

With this.

Lord Wilmore sent me this,

suggesting I invest
in the gold mines of Zacatecas.

In Mexico.

At the source
of the Aguanaval River.

- Do you know Lord Wilmore?
- Not personally.

He made me lose
3000 francs at the races

so he owes me some compensation.

You mustn't worry.

Wilmore is a major shareholder
with Thomson & French.

A firm we can fully trust.

At interval, when you presented me
to His Majesty,

I was overcome.

Why, Madam?

Kings are just like any other men.

You are not like other men.

People are fascinated by you.

And how do you see me?

With infinite gratitude. However...

Take this back.

I was delighted and proud
to wear it,

but it is far too beautiful for me.

It is yours, Madam.
If you don't want it, sell it.

And use the money
to fix your roof.

No, I don't want to invest
in that property.

If only I could be rid of it!

I never knew why my poor husband
was so obsessed

to get into debt for it.

I think he was proud
to live in a house

that once belonged
to the Saint-Merans.

- The Marseille Saint-Merans?
- You know them?

By name.

It's a big, ancient family

which has always served
the Crown.

Helene de Saint-Meran

was Mr. de Villefort's first wife.

He was the one with the cold stare
in the King's box.

So, did Mr. Villefort live here?

Probably.

But only as a country house.

Will you come in for a while to get warm
before leaving for Paris?

Sophie has made a fire.

It is a bit early
to be playing with fire, Madam.

You are right.

Especially since it's Thursday

and therefore tomorrow
is Friday

and Friday I have confession.

Your confession will be lighter

if I bravely confront
the cold night

without surrendering to temptation.

Were you going to steal?

I caught you in the act, thief!

Maybe you were planning
to kill somebody.

Your Excellency is mistaken.

I would never kill
the goose who lays golden eggs.

- I just came to talk business.
- Who with?

With the girlie
who lives here!

Nonsense, you must have
the wrong place.

I have a little secret
worth its weight in gold.

Who do you think you're talking to?

I'll knock your head off!
You'll see!

Leave him alone, Bertuccio!
I don't like seeing men crawl.

You have a secret to sell?

- Are you interested?
- Meet me tomorrow.

Tell me all and you'll be paid
more than you imagined.

The meeting place...

- Not with the police?
- With a priest.

Busoni!

Father Busoni!

I knew this was a trap.

Forgive me, Father...

In the name of Jesus and Mary
don't send me--

To prison? But last time we met

I left you a diamond
worth 50,000 francs.

A treasure which could have
given you an honest life.

It was my maid.

It's her fault.
The diamond drove her crazy.

She wanted it.

- And since I had a knife handy--
- Silence!

Always the same story.

Vileness, treachery, infamy.
You all make me sick!

Let's have done with it, Caderousse.

I hear you have something
to tell me.

It's not for you, Father.

This secret is for blackmail.

Speak, or I will hand you
to justice

and thence to God.

I will be forced to accuse a judge.

- A Prosecutor.
- Villefort?

How do you know?

Leave it. Go on.

Villefort inherited
a house at Auteuil.

He could do as he pleased
without disturbance.

And what did he do there?

Something priests never do...
Make love.

Who with?

Hermine Danglars, a banker's wife.

They had a child.

You mean
without Danglars knowing?

- No.
- He didn't see his wife.

When she started to show,
she went away for a rest.

When the child came,
they both thought it was dead.

Needless to say
they were relieved.

No baby, no scandal.

Villefort put the child in a box
and at nightfall...

He ran to the garden to bury it.

Out of sight, out of mind,
he thought.

Unfortunately,
there was a prowler in the area,

who thought he was
seeing treasure buried.

So when Villefort had left--

The prowler found the baby, revived it

and raised it like his own child.

How do you know all this, Caderousse?

That child was my prison companion in Toulon.

His adoptive father
told him the secret of his birth,

and Toussaint told me.

He was found on All Saints' Day
so he was called Toussaint.

Why was he in prison?

He visited a few houses
without being invited.

For a Prosecutor's son,
it's amusing.

- We escaped together.
- How much?

It's as precious as gold!

Villefort and Madame Danglars
might pay up to...

Yes, but I am just a poor priest.

I won't buy your story.
I will rent it.

- What do you mean?
- 500 francs a month.

For six months neither you
nor Toussaint will mention it.

After that,
you do as you wish.

Well, my dear...

Have you seen this?

I received the same card
an hour ago.

"Madame de la Richardais
requests your company

for luncheon at her property at Auteuil."

Et cetera...

It's normal for her to invite you.

She is poor.

Maybe she needs your help.
I don't know her.

She knows no one.

She must have made her list at random.

She's just a peasant

whose husband had no time
to refine her.

Nor to make her pregnant.

Queen of Spades
on King of Hearts.

Certainly not.

I never play the Queen of Spades.

It is the card
that represents death.

In any case,
I won't go to this party.

To go back to that cursed house,

would be beyond me.

I hope you understand.

But you will have to attend, dear Hermine.

Never. It could well be a trap.

How could this little Richardais
set a trap for us?

She's far too innocent.

Lunch in the country, how charming.

Full of little people
we won't know.

This Camille de la Richardais is a nobody.

Her husband didn't even
have the Legion of Honor.

On the contrary,
we will know everybody.

Since we are the only guests.

Who do you mean by "we," Baron?

We, the gay band
from Marseille.

The same happy group
as in the old days.

Monte Cristo
will be the only odd man out.

The tables will be here, under a canopy.

- What color canopy?
- White. For innocence.

And the menu?

I want the same buffet,
exactly the same,

as at Marseille for Edmond Dant�s
and Merc�d�s Igualada's engagement.

Same food,
same wine, same flowers.

I remember the flowers... mimosa.

What are you up to?
You'll be recognized.

How could they imagine
I am Edmond Dant�s?

Sometimes, I even have doubts.

As if it were a dream
or a novel...or another life.

Anyhow, Bertuccio,
that day will come.

And when they recognize me,

it will be worse for them than for me.

I have just thought
of something quite mad.

What, Madam?

I don't even know your name.

My name?

Yes, Sir.

Anatole, Charles, Edouard or Paul.
All men have a first name.

So what is yours?
You've never told me.

Really?

Really. What is it?

Well, I could say
I'm called Athanase...

Or Chrysande...

Or... very well,
here's the truth.

My parents were scatterbrained.
They forgot to name me.

- That's terrible.
- Not at all, Madam.

On the contrary.
You may call me what you wish.

Do you mean
that I may baptize you?

Yes. So what first name
have you chosen for me?

Guess. It begins with an "E".

Why an "E"?

To suit what you are.

"E" for endearing, "E" for exuberant,

"E" for extraordinary,
"E" for entrancing,

"E" for exceptional,

"E" for expectation...

- Or maybe Eric, Ernest, Etienne.
- Edmond.

Or Edmond.

That's what I chose.

No, I can't be seen.

Well, say something.

Don't you like my dress?

It's dazzling.

Maybe too dazzling
for a country luncheon

hosted by the little Richardais.

Little?

Is she so sweet
that you must call her that?

What's wrong with you?

I only said "little"
to underline her insignificance.

Apparently, the other night,
Madame de la Richardais

wore a ravishing gown.

Obviously, I didn't see her,

but the Ladies' Gazette

published sketches of her.

It hung on her
like on a coat hanger.

We don't have to go
to this luncheon.

I will send a footman
to give our apologies.

We will go.

Monte Cristo's presence
will make it bearable.

He will keep us entertained.
He is always so eccentric.

The sash
of the order of Saint Louis.

- You didn't tell me.
- His Majesty awarded it to me

but I attach
little importance to it.

I am very proud of you.

Impressed, aren't you?

Tell your mother to hurry.
The coach is ready.

You are radiant, Mother.

Isn't life wonderful?

This isn't the time
to make a scene.

I'm not making a scene, Hermine.

If you must play
the stock exchange

use your own money,
not joint funds.

If you knew how much
your speculation

in Trieste shares
has cost me...

And you never speculate?

I do, but it's not just luck.

I have the very best advice.

Thanks to the Count of Monte Cristo
I am the only French banker

to invest
in the Zacatecas goldmines.

It's not much
of a goldmine yet.

You women are always
so impatient.

Give them time to dig a bit deeper,
and then you'll see!

Anyway, Zacatecas
is only for starters.

Monte Cristo convinced me
to invest one million

in the sturgeon farms
of St. Petersburg.

Russia will be our main course.

And I guarantee
it will be a feast!

They're coming!

- I'm so nervous!
- There's no reason to be.

If my husband could see me.

His poor Camille, receiving such important
guests at home!

I see you have
that worried look--

A worried look?
Why would I be worried?

Lunch in the country is so gay.

Come. Come and see
what fun we'll have.

Your Honor, come and admire
these little sausages

which are actually called Poutargues,

minced fish eggs,
salted and spiced,

eaten with
a touch of olive oil and pepper,

delicious spread on
toasted bread.

Countess, look at these.

For delicate palates,

we have eel with celery,
fresh tomato and orange zest.

I see the Baron has noticed

our selection of sardines
and mullet escab�che.

Do taste, Baron, please.

You won't regret it.

How unusual,
this menu from Marseille.

It was the Count's idea. Don't you like it?

I wanted something more original

than the usual p�t�
and salmon � la ravigote.

I thought it was
because you were nostalgic.

Nostalgic?

About what?

I would need
to have been to Marseille.

And you haven't?

I have seen as much of it
as a traveler

who stops a few hours
before heading for the East.

Come and admire
my pond, Countess.

Mr. de Monte Cristo gave me
some astonishing lilies.

They're from Japan.

From the imperial gardens of Kyoto.

No, thank you.

I never go near ponds.
I hate mosquitoes.

Please...

Do not let me deprive your guests
of such an enchanting sight.

Your childhood
must have been hell.

- Why?
- The mosquitoes.

I hear
they are ferocious in the south.

Is that why you left Marseille?

I left Marseille
to follow my husband.

I am sure Mme de la Richardais
would do the same.

Where you go, she will follow.

Do not deny it, Sir.

At the opera, your feelings for her
were obvious to all.

I am happy for you.

You won't find
a lovelier young lady.

You made a good choice
to wait for love.

And at twenty,

one tends to make mistakes.

Let's drink to your happiness.

No thank you, Madam.

You do not want happiness?

I do, like everybody else.

Maybe even more.

So it is the wine you refuse?

If I want something,
I will serve myself.

You lived in the East.

Do they not believe there
that those who have shared food

will remain friends forever?

By refusing the wine I offer you,

are you telling me

you are refusing
my friendship?

Why would I, Madam?

What would be the reason for that?

Thanks to Mr. de Monte Cristo's generosity

I've made this gloomy home more cheerful.

The paintings, the tapestries, the furniture...

- Everything has been changed.
- Everything but the bedroom.

You're not going
to show them--

I'm sure they will
find it very exciting. Come!

The room was marked
by something dreadful.

I managed to dissuade Camille
from changing it.

Why try and hide the past?

It always reappears.
Especially if marked by horror.

I think I'll let you go without me.

Are you feeling unwell, Madam?

It is the heat, I think.

I'm going to get some fresh air.
I'll be fine.

- May I accompany her?
- Villefort...

Your legal duty
comes before politeness.

Don't worry,
she can find the garden alone.

If there was a crime,
you should go and see.

Words cannot describe the scene.

On this bed,

where she so often
gave in to her lover's whims,

picture a woman, gasping...

Her hair dripping with sweat,

disheveled by the pain
of childbirth.

Next to her on the sheet,
a baby.

Motionless.

Silent.

You mean the baby was dead?

Who knows?

No doctor was called,
nor a midwife.

The birth was kept a total secret.

In any case, the father opts
for the most convenient assumption.

If the child is stillborn,
scandal will be avoided.

He takes the limp baby,

he looks around for something

that can be used as a coffin.

He sees a small trunk,

he places the child in it, closes it.

All that this perverted father has to do

is go to the garden.

It has rained all night
and the soil is loose.

The grave will be easy to dig.

What do you think of that, Villefort?

- What I think--
- He is horrified

and understandably upset.

Such a monster deserves a trial

and severe punishment.

One can understand
such behavior

from a frustrated brute.

But Monte Cristo claims
it was a high-class person.

Which makes matters worse.

I'll ask Monte Cristo
to forgive me,

but I don't believe
a word of this tale

he has so cleverly told us.

I'll be relieved if you're right!

All old houses have
their myths and traditions

invented by servants
dismissed for drunkenness

who avenge their previous masters
by spreading

slanderous stories.

Don't deceive yourself, Sir.
This story is true.

- I can prove it.
- I defy you to.

My dear,
you really missed something!

The Count told us
a terrifying story.

Come.

Come on!
At least to hear the end.

Watch your head.

I had the whole garden

dug up
up to here, where finally--

You have no right.
That's desecration.

No, Sir.

Nothing is desecrated. We didn't find
the child's skeleton.

As I said,
it's pure invention.

However...

Do look.

The cook as gravedigger.
Is this the theater?

I felt I was doing the right thing by replacing
what we had dug up.

I know that the law
doesn't like one to destroy...

Or burn incriminating evidence.

Empty!

That's correct.

Empty, today.

But was it empty
the night it was buried?

Surely not.

Absurd to bury an empty trunk!

I think so, too. I believe there was
a child in the trunk.

- Can you prove it?
- I can't.

- But you...
- Why me?

Because it's your profession.

Even with little or no evidence
you prove things.

- If the child wasn't dead--
- It was buried alive.

And may still be alive...

Today.

Compared to
such a diabolical couple,

Gervaise Rebuffet, who recently lost her head,
was an angel.

You must order an investigation

to find and punish the monsters
guilty of this unspeakable act.

- Be careful. That's hemlock.
- Yes, I know.

It's poisonous. Throw it away
and wash your hands carefully.

Don't worry, Count.
I'm used to it.

Poisons can be controlled,
like everything.

Take hemlock, for example.
Mixed with clay and vinegar,

there's nothing better
for the hair.

With salts, it restores shine
to tarnished silverware.

I see that you know a lot about it.

My husband
has often prosecuted poisoners.

It's fascinating what one can learn
from the files of a trial.

And that?
Do you know this?

Digitalis purpurea.

Its leaves contain an alkaloid, digitaline.
It slows the heartbeat

and can be lethally poisonous.

A certain dose, of course.

To be effective, they should be picked
from two-year-old plants.

Flowers and death
have always gone together.

Don't they say the word garden

comes from an old expression
for paradise,

that is, the hereafter?

The truth is
I'm horribly afraid of death.

So why play with it?

But, my lord Count,
it's not a game, it's a treatment,

a therapy for anguish.

Let's say it reassures me
to put death in a jar,

to make powders and creams with it

It makes me feel I control it,
that it's at my service.

Except that death
can't be caged like a lion.

Are you sure
that you're controlling it?

Absolutely.

From time to time,
I check that it's obeying me.

I experiment on slugs, caterpillars...

Stray cats, pigeons...

As a result, we have
the cleanest garden in all Paris.

Stop fidgeting
like an excited little girl, dear.

Before autumn,
you may already be married.

This morning I had a letter
from Madame de Saint-Meran.

Despite her age,
your grandmother is coming

for your wedding.

I'll be happy to see her, but this wedding
may not take place.

There's nothing to stop it anymore.

Franz d'Epinay and I have
finally agreed on everything.

He quibbled over your dowry,

but I stressed he was to become
part of a most upright family.

These days, honesty is worth
more than a great fortune.

You're just like me.

Weddings always make me cry
more than funerals.

I'm not to be disturbed.

I thought about it all night.

His little face all blue.

His tiny chest
that didn't even rise.

My God! So he wasn't dead?

- Apparently not.
- How do you explain it?

How would I know?
I'm not a doctor.

I suppose he was in that state
called profound lethargy.

A type of sleep where vital functions
are suspended.

So someone who spied you burying the trunk
rushed to dig it up?

You saw nothing?

Like what?

I came straight back to you.
You were so upset.

A stranger took our child,

revived him, held him tight

and took him away.
Is that it?

Yes, that's probably
what happened.

And now?
What will you do?

About what?

About what? It's my child, my son!
You must find him.

Let's see. Were he still alive,
he'd be about 20.

You want me to find him
with only that information?

My poor Hermine, France is swarming
with twenty-year-olds.

Perhaps if there is
a miracle...

How do you think
he would react?

Joy at knowing his real parents at last.

You're the wife of a rich man.

I'm not exactly penniless.

I'm sure for him money would soon
become more important than us.

He'd call me to account.

Are you willing to go to the Baron

and confess you had, by another,
the son he's always wanted?

And say "My dear,
give me a few million

for this child that's not yours."

"Otherwise I'll tell everyone
you're a cuckold."

What do you take men for?

For what they are.
Cash registers.

Believe me, Hermine,

just as we've
forgotten each other,

forget this story,
and if you go inside a church

just don't pray to the dead.

You say that to a mother?

Let's not exaggerate, my dear.

You're a parent in the same way I am...

By accident.

You've become indifferent to me.

Why are you like this?

Because my stupid husband
finds himself

in delicate circumstances?

You're ashamed of being close
to the wife of Baron Danglars?

"Delicate" is a euphemism.

Your husband's all but bankrupted.

Let's hope fraud is not involved.

It would be most unpleasant
to deal with a summons.

Come now.

Farewell.

Think of your marriage.

What marriage?

You destroyed it by insisting on
making me your mistress.

And then yesterday...

The death knell, when they dug up
that dreadful little chest,

all covered in dirt.

I have nothing left.

Of course you have.

Lots of money.

At least for the moment.

And at our age,
that's what counts.