"Do you think I love you?" said Monte-Cristo, taking the young man's hand affectionately in his.
"Oh! you encourage me! and something tells me there," placing his hand on his heart, "that I ought to have no secret from you."
"You are right, Morrel; God is speaking to your heart, and your heart speaks to you. Tell me what it says."
"Count, will you allow me to send Baptistin to inquire after some one you know?"
"I am at your service, and still more my servants."
"Oh! I cannot live, if she is not better."
"Shall I ring for Baptistin?"
"No, I will go and speak to him myself." Morrel went out, called Baptistin, and whispered a few words to him. The valet ran directly.
"Well, have you sent?" asked Monte-Cristo, seeing Morrel return.
"Yes, and now I shall be more calm."
"You know I am waiting," said Monte-Cristo, smiling.
"Yes, and I will tell you. One evening I was in a garden; a clump of trees concealed me; no one suspected I was there. Two persons passed near me—allow me to conceal their names for the present; they were speaking in an undertone, and yet I was so interested in what they said that I did not lose a single word."
"This is a gloomy introduction, if I may judge from your paleness and your shuddering, Morrel."
"Oh! yes, very gloomy, my friend! Some one had just died in the house to which that garden belonged. One of those persons whose conversation I overheard was the master of the house, the other, the physician. The former was confiding to the latter his grief and fear; for it was the second time within a month that death had entered suddenly and unexpectedly that house, apparently destined to destruction by some exterminating angel, as an object of God's anger."
"Ah! ah!" said Monte-Cristo, looking earnestly at the young man, and, by an imperceptible movement, turning his chair, so that he remained in the shade while the light fell full on Maximilian's face.
"Yes," continued Morrel, "death had entered that house twice within one month."
"And what did the doctor answer?" asked Monte-Cristo.
"He replied—he replied, that death was not a natural one, and must be attributed"
"To what?"
"To poison!"
"Indeed!" said Monte-Cristo, with a slight cough, which, in moments of extreme emotion, helped him to disguise a blush, or his paleness, or
