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"I rave?" said Morrel; "well, then, I appeal to M. d'Avrigny himself. Ask him, sir, if he recollects the words he uttered in the garden of this house on the night of Madame de Saint-Meran's death. You thought yourselves alone, and talked about that tragical death, and the fatality you mentioned then is the same which has caused the murder of Valentine." Villefort and d'Avrigny exchanged looks.
Morrel began again to breathe freely, which he had not done during the last ten minutes. "Grief has consumed her," said Villefort "yes, grief, doctor! After living forty years with the marquis" "It is not grief, my dear Villefort," said the doctor; "grief may kill, although it rarely does, and never in a day, never in an hour, never in ten minutes."
He was at the moment conversing cheerfully with Morrel, but he was well prepared for what might happen. The door opened, and Monte Cristo, turning round, saw Albert, pale and trembling, followed by Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud. "Well," cried he, with that benevolent politeness which distinguished his salutation from the common civilities of the world, "my cavalier has attained his object.
"And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, "have heard something like this from an old sailor named Penelon." "Ah," cried Albert, "it is very lucky that M. Morrel comes to aid me; you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a clew to the labyrinth?" "My dear Albert," said Debray, "what you tell us is so extraordinary."
"Oh, I entreat you," exclaimed Morrel in a low voice, "do not speak another word, count; do not prolong my punishment." The count fancied that he was yielding, and this belief revived the horrible doubt that had overwhelmed him at the Chateau d'If.
"Do you not guess, monsieur?" asked Morrel. "Not in the least; but if I can serve you in any way I shall be delighted." "Everything depends on you." "Explain yourself, pray."
"Unfortunately," replied the count, "I am witness that M. Morrel cannot give up his horse, his honor being engaged in keeping it." "How so?" "He laid a wager he would tame Medeah in the space of six months.
"Ah," said Morrel, falling from the height of excitement to the abyss of despair "ah, you are playing with me, like those good, or rather selfish mothers who soothe their children with honeyed words, because their screams annoy them.
"Captain or mate, M. Morrel, I shall always have the greatest respect for those who possess the owners' confidence." "That's right, that's right, Dantes! I see you are a thoroughly good fellow, and will detain you no longer. Go, for I see how impatient you are." "Then I have leave?" "Go, I tell you." "May I have the use of your skiff?" "Certainly."
"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 some one dead in his house?"
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