," replied Monte Cristo, without even knowing of what or
to whom he was speaking, so much was he occupied in watching Morrel, who
was holding his breath with emotion. "The discourse is over; farewell,
gentlemen," said the count. And he disappeared without anyone seeing
whither he went. The funeral being over, the guests returned to Paris.
Chateau-Renaud looked for a moment for Morrel; but while they were
watching the departure of the count, Morrel had quitted his post, and
Chateau-Renaud, failing in his search, joined Debray and Beauchamp.

Monte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and awaited the
arrival of Morrel, who by degrees approached the tomb now abandoned
by spectators and workmen. Morrel threw a glance around, but before it
reached the spot occupied by Monte Cristo the latter had advanced yet
nearer, still unperceived. The young man knelt down. The count, with
outstretched neck and glaring eyes, stood in an attitude ready to
pounce upon Morrel upon the first occasion. Morrel bent his head till
it touched the stone, then clutching the grating with both hands,
he murmured,--"Oh, Valentine!" The count's heart was pierced by the
utterance of these two words; he stepped forward, and touching the young
man's shoulder, said,--"I was looking for you, my friend." Monte Cristo
expected a burst of passion, but he was deceived, for Morrel turning
round, said calmly,--

"You see I was praying." The scrutinizing glance of the count searched
the young man from head to foot. He then seemed more easy.

"Shall I drive you back to Paris?" he asked.

"No, thank you."

"Do you wish anything?"

"Leave me to pray." The count withdrew without opposition, but it was
only to place himself in a situation where he could watch every movement
of Morrel, who at length arose, brushed the dust from his knees, and
turned towards Paris, without once looking back. He walked slowly down
the Rue de la Roquette. The count, dismissing his carriage, followed him
about a hundred paces behind. Maximilian crossed the canal and entered
the Rue Meslay by the boulevards. Five minutes after the door had been
closed on Morrel's entrance, it was again opened for the count. Julie
was at the entrance of the garden, where she was attentively watching
Penelon, who, entering with zeal into his profession of gardener, was
very busy grafting some Bengal roses. "Ah, count," she exclaimed, with
the delight manifested by every member of the family whenev