e middle of
the yard--a strange sight before so noble a mansion; the count looked
at it with terror, but without daring to inquire its meaning, he rushed
towards his apartment. Two persons were coming down the stairs; he had
only time to creep into an alcove to avoid them. It was Mercedes leaning
on her son's arm and leaving the house. They passed close by the unhappy
being, who, concealed behind the damask curtain, almost felt Mercedes
dress brush past him, and his son's warm breath, pronouncing these
words,--"Courage, mother! Come, this is no longer our home!" The words
died away, the steps were lost in the distance. The general drew himself
up, clinging to the curtain; he uttered the most dreadful sob which ever
escaped from the bosom of a father abandoned at the same time by
his wife and son. He soon heard the clatter of the iron step of the
hackney-coach, then the coachman's voice, and then the rolling of the
heavy vehicle shook the windows. He darted to his bedroom to see once
more all he had loved in the world; but the hackney-coach drove on and
the head of neither Mercedes nor her son appeared at the window to take
a last look at the house or the deserted father and husband. And at the
very moment when the wheels of that coach crossed the gateway a report
was heard, and a thick smoke escaped through one of the panes of the
window, which was broken by the explosion.

Chapter 93. Valentine.

We may easily conceive where Morrel's appointment was. On leaving Monte
Cristo he walked slowly towards Villefort's; we say slowly, for Morrel
had more than half an hour to spare to go five hundred steps, but he
had hastened to take leave of Monte Cristo because he wished to be alone
with his thoughts. He knew his time well--the hour when Valentine was
giving Noirtier his breakfast, and was sure not to be disturbed in the
performance of this pious duty. Noirtier and Valentine had given him
leave to go twice a week, and he was now availing himself of that
permission. He had arrived; Valentine was expecting him. Uneasy and
almost crazed, she seized his hand and led him to her grandfather. This
uneasiness, amounting almost to frenzy, arose from the report Morcerf's
adventure had made in the world, for the affair at the opera was
generally known. No one at Villefort's doubted that a duel would ensue
from it. Valentine, with her woman's instinct, guessed that Morrel would
be Monte Cristo's second, and from the young man's well