offer you."

"Probably," said Monte Cristo with his imperturbable tranquillity.

"But what shall you do with him?"

"With whom?"

"With Albert."

"What shall I do with Albert? As certainly, Maximilian, as I now press
your hand, I shall kill him before ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
Morrel, in his turn, took Monte Cristo's hand in both of his, and he
shuddered to feel how cold and steady it was.

"Ah, Count," said he, "his father loves him so much!"

"Do not speak to me of that," said Monte Cristo, with the first movement
of anger he had betrayed; "I will make him suffer." Morrel, amazed, let
fall Monte Cristo's hand. "Count, count!" said he.

"Dear Maximilian," interrupted the count, "listen how adorably Duprez is
singing that line,--

'O Mathilde! idole de mon ame!'

"I was the first to discover Duprez at Naples, and the first to
applaud him. Bravo, bravo!" Morrel saw it was useless to say more, and
refrained. The curtain, which had risen at the close of the scene with
Albert, again fell, and a rap was heard at the door.

"Come in," said Monte Cristo with a voice that betrayed not the
least emotion; and immediately Beauchamp appeared. "Good-evening, M.
Beauchamp," said Monte Cristo, as if this was the first time he had seen
the journalist that evening; "be seated."

Beauchamp bowed, and, sitting down, "Sir," said he, "I just now
accompanied M. de Morcerf, as you saw."

"And that means," replied Monte Cristo, laughing, "that you had,
probably, just dined together. I am happy to see, M. Beauchamp, that you
are more sober than he was."

"Sir," said M. Beauchamp, "Albert was wrong, I acknowledge, to betray
so much anger, and I come, on my own account, to apologize for him. And
having done so, entirely on my own account, be it understood, I would
add that I believe you too gentlemanly to refuse giving him some
explanation concerning your connection with Yanina. Then I will add
two words about the young Greek girl." Monte Cristo motioned him to be
silent. "Come," said he, laughing, "there are all my hopes about to be
destroyed."

"How so?" asked Beauchamp.

"Doubtless you wish to make me appear a very eccentric character. I am,
in your opinion, a Lara, a Manfred, a Lord Ruthven; then, just as I am
arriving at the climax, you defeat your own end, and seek to make an
ordinary man of me. You bring me down to your own level, and demand
explanations! Indeed, M. Beauchamp, it is quite laughable."

"Yet