of him at
Marseilles, and M. Danglars recollects having seen him. Consequently,
the procureur is very active in the affair, and the prefect of police
very much interested; and, thanks to that interest, for which I am very
grateful, they send me all the robbers of Paris and the neighborhood,
under pretence of their being Caderousse's murderers, so that in three
months, if this continues, every robber and assassin in France will have
the plan of my house at his fingers' end. I am resolved to desert them
and go to some remote corner of the earth, and shall be happy if you
will accompany me, viscount."

"Willingly."

"Then it is settled?"

"Yes, but where?"

"I have told you, where the air is pure, where every sound soothes,
where one is sure to be humbled, however proud may be his nature. I love
that humiliation, I, who am master of the universe, as was Augustus."

"But where are you really going?"

"To sea, viscount; you know I am a sailor. I was rocked when an infant
in the arms of old ocean, and on the bosom of the beautiful Amphitrite;
I have sported with the green mantle of the one and the azure robe of
the other; I love the sea as a mistress, and pine if I do not often see
her."

"Let us go, count."

"To sea?"

"Yes."

"You accept my proposal?"

"I do."

"Well, Viscount, there will be in my court-yard this evening a good
travelling britzka, with four post-horses, in which one may rest as in a
bed. M. Beauchamp, it holds four very well, will you accompany us?"

"Thank you, I have just returned from sea."

"What? you have been to sea?"

"Yes; I have just made a little excursion to the Borromean Islands." [*]

* Lake Maggiore.

"What of that? come with us," said Albert.

"No, dear Morcerf; you know I only refuse when the thing is impossible.
Besides, it is important," added he in a low tone, "that I should remain
in Paris just now to watch the paper."

"Ah, you are a good and an excellent friend," said Albert; "yes, you are
right; watch, watch, Beauchamp, and try to discover the enemy who made
this disclosure." Albert and Beauchamp parted, the last pressure of
their hands expressing what their tongues could not before a stranger.

"Beauchamp is a worthy fellow," said Monte Cristo, when the journalist
was gone; "is he not, Albert?"

"Yes, and a sincere friend; I love him devotedly. But now we are
alone,--although it is immaterial to me,--where are we going?"

"Into Normandy, if you lik