“Oh, this time, doctor, you shall not have to reproach me with weakness. This time I will know the assassin, and will pursue him.”
“Let us try first to save the victim before we think of revenging her,” said d’Avrigny. “Come.”
The same cabriolet which had brought Villefort took them back at full speed, and at this moment Morrel rapped at Monte Cristo’s door.
The count was in his study and was reading with an angry look something which Bertuccio had brought in haste. Hearing the name of Morrel, who had left him only two hours before, the count raised his head, arose, and sprang to meet him.
“What is the matter, Maximilian?” asked he; “you are pale, and the perspiration rolls from your forehead.” Morrel fell into a chair.
“Yes,” said he, “I came quickly; I wanted to speak to you.”
“Are all your family well?” asked the count, with an affectionate benevolence, whose sincerity no one could for a moment doubt.
“Thank you, count—thank you,” said the young man, evidently embarrassed how to begin the conversation; “yes, everyone in my family is well.”
“So much the better; yet you have something to tell me?” replied the count with increased anxiety.
“Yes,” said Morrel, “it is true; I have but now left a house where death has just entered, to run to you.”
“Are you then come from M. de Morcerf’s?” asked Monte Cristo.
“No,” said Morrel; “is someone dead in his house?”
“The general has just blown his brains out,” replied Monte Cristo with great coolness.