In a very few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue Meslay. The house was of white stone, and in a small court before it were two small beds full of beautiful flowers. In the concierge that opened the gate the count recognized Cocles; but as he had but one eye, and that eye had become somewhat dim in the course of nine years, Cocles did not recognize the count.
“The Count of Monte Cristo?” cried Morrel, throwing away his cigar and hastening to the carriage; “I should think we would see him. Ah, a thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten your promise.” “Don’t disturb yourself, Julie,” said he. “The count has only been two or three days in Paris, but he already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais is, and if he does not, you will show him.”
Then, turning to Monte Cristo,—“I hope you will permit me to leave you for a few minutes,” continued she; and without awaiting any reply, disappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to the house by a lateral alley. “He was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the business of my poor father. M. Morrel, at his death, left 500,000 francs, which were divided between my sister and myself, for we were his only children. Her husband, who, when he married her, had no other patrimony than his noble probity, his first-rate ability, and his spotless reputation, wished to possess as much as his wife. He labored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000 francs; six years sufficed to achieve this object.
“‘Monsieur,’ said Emmanuel, ‘have the goodness to address yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.’“And this is the reason, monsieur,” continued Maximilian, “of my sister and brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year.” “Madame,” said he at length, “I pray you to excuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only accustomed to the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a sight to me, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your husband.”
The count’s cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed, in order to have an excuse for putting his handkerchief to his mouth. “This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an explanation, madame,” replied Monte Cristo bowing. “Pardon me, I had no intention of committing an indiscretion.” “An Englishman,” said Monte Cristo, who grew uneasy at the attention with which Julie looked at him. “An Englishman you say?”
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