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"Is it heaven that opens before me?" thought the dying man; "that angel resembles the one I have lost." Monte Cristo pointed out Morrel to the young woman, who advanced towards him with clasped hands and a smile upon her lips.
Morrel shuddered as he thought of the conversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and he thought he could see through the sheet the extended hands, the stiff neck, and the purple lips. "Your servants," said he, "who were repeating the whole of the sorrowful story; from them I learned it all." "But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here, love."
"It is past noon," said she, "and to-day is Saturday; I dare say it is the doctor, grandpapa." Noirtier looked his conviction that she was right in her supposition. "He will come in here, and M. Morrel had better go, do you not think so, grandpapa?" "Yes," signed the old man. "Barrois," cried Valentine, "Barrois!" "I am coming, mademoiselle," replied he.
But before he had finished, M. de Chateau-Renaud, a handsome young man of thirty, gentleman all over, that is, with the figure of a Guiche and the wit of a Mortemart, took Albert's hand. "My dear Albert," said he, "let me introduce to you M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, my friend; and what is more however the man speaks for himself my preserver. Salute my hero, viscount."
"He is, or was, and his beautiful wife, too, the most magnificent woman in Paris. Morrel also is here with his fair bride." "And who is that dark, dignified man in the Turkish costume, around whom the ladies have clustered so inquisitively?" asked the Deputy. "Why, that's the Emir of Algeria, the famous captive of the Duke d'Aumale," was the reply. "What! Abd-el-Kader! How comes he here?"
My dear Franz, M. Maximilian Morrel, an excellent friend I have acquired in your absence, and whose name you will hear me mention every time I make any allusion to affection, wit, or amiability."
"No doubt," replied the Count, "for, if I mistake not and I'm sure I don't mistake, now that I look more closely that stalwart, splendid fellow, with the broad forehead, black eyes and moustache, and the order of the Legion of Honor on his breast, to set off his rich uniform of the Spahis, and on whose arm the fair apparition is leaning, is no other than Maximilian Morrel himself the identical man who saved my worthless neck from a yataghan in Algeria."
A smile lit up the old man's face, a strange smile of the eyes in a paralyzed face. "Then I must wait?" asked the young man. "Yes." "But the contract?" The same smile returned. "Will you assure me it shall not be signed?" "Yes," said Noirtier. "The contract shall not be signed!" cried Morrel. "Oh, pardon me, sir; I can scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not sign it?"
"Come, dear ones," said Morrel, rising from his seat, "let us go and see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be false intelligence!" They all went out, and on the stairs met Madame Morrel, who had been afraid to go up into the study. In a moment they were at the Cannebiere. There was a crowd on the pier. All the crowd gave way before Morrel. "The Pharaon, the Pharaon!" said every voice.
"Sir," said he, "up to this time and it is now more than four-and-twenty years since I received the direction of this house from my father, who had himself conducted it for five and thirty years never has anything bearing the signature of Morrel & Son been dishonored." "I know that," replied the Englishman.
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