lained nothing, and it is he who apologized to me."

"But to what do you attribute this conduct?"

"To the conviction, probably, that there was one more guilty than I."

"And who was that?"

"His father."

"That may be," said the count, turning pale; "but you know the guilty do
not like to find themselves convicted."

"I know it, and I expected this result."

"You expected my son would be a coward?" cried the count.

"M. Albert de Morcerf is no coward!" said Monte Cristo.

"A man who holds a sword in his hand, and sees a mortal enemy within
reach of that sword, and does not fight, is a coward! Why is he not here
that I may tell him so?"

"Sir." replied Monte Cristo coldly, "I did not expect that you had come
here to relate to me your little family affairs. Go and tell M. Albert
that, and he may know what to answer you."

"Oh, no, no," said the general, smiling faintly, "I did not come for
that purpose; you are right. I came to tell you that I also look upon
you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate you instinctively; that
it seems as if I had always known you, and always hated you; and, in
short, since the young people of the present day will not fight, it
remains for us to do so. Do you think so, sir?"

"Certainly. And when I told you I had foreseen the result, it is the
honor of your visit I alluded to."

"So much the better. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know that we shall fight till one of us is dead," said the general,
whose teeth were clinched with rage. "Until one of us dies," repeated
Monte Cristo, moving his head slightly up and down.

"Let us start, then; we need no witnesses."

"Very true," said Monte Cristo; "it is unnecessary, we know each other
so well!"

"On the contrary," said the count, "we know so little of each other."

"Indeed?" said Monte Cristo, with the same indomitable coolness; "let
us see. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted on the eve of the
battle of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who served as
guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the Captain
Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali? And have
not all these Fernands, united, made Lieutenant-General, the Count of
Morcerf, peer of France?"

"Oh," cried the general, as if branded with a hot iron, "wretch,--to
reproach me with my shame when about, perhaps, to kill me! No, I did
not say I was a stranger to you. I know well, demon, that you have
pene