e, which is known only to God and to me; but I give you my word,
Morrel, that God, who does know it, will be on our side."

"Enough," said Morrel; "who is your second witness?"

"I know no one in Paris, Morrel, on whom I could confer that honor
besides you and your brother Emmanuel. Do you think Emmanuel would
oblige me?"

"I will answer for him, count."

"Well? that is all I require. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, you
will be with me, will you not?"

"We will."

"Hush, the curtain is rising. Listen! I never lose a note of this opera
if I can avoid it; the music of William Tell is so sweet."

Chapter 89. A Nocturnal Interview.

Monte Cristo waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez had
sung his famous "Suivez-moi;" then he rose and went out. Morrel took
leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him the next
morning at seven o'clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into
his coupe, calm and smiling, and was at home in five minutes. No one who
knew the count could mistake his expression when, on entering, he said,
"Ali, bring me my pistols with the ivory cross."

Ali brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with a
solicitude very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life to a
little powder and shot. These were pistols of an especial pattern, which
Monte Cristo had had made for target practice in his own room. A cap was
sufficient to drive out the bullet, and from the adjoining room no one
would have suspected that the count was, as sportsmen would say, keeping
his hand in. He was just taking one up and looking for the point to aim
at on a little iron plate which served him as a target, when his study
door opened, and Baptistin entered. Before he had spoken a word, the
count saw in the next room a veiled woman, who had followed closely
after Baptistin, and now, seeing the count with a pistol in his hand and
swords on the table, rushed in. Baptistin looked at his master, who made
a sign to him, and he went out, closing the door after him. "Who are
you, madame?" said the count to the veiled woman.

The stranger cast one look around her, to be certain that they were
quite alone; then bending as if she would have knelt, and joining her
hands, she said with an accent of despair, "Edmond, you will not kill my
son?" The count retreated a step, uttered a slight exclamation, and let
fall the pistol he held. "What name did you pronounce then, Madame de
Morc