Meanwhile Albert had revived, and, continuing to read, he threw back his head, saying:
“Florentin, is your horse fit to return immediately?”
“It is a poor, lame post-horse.”
“In what state was the house when you left?”
“All was quiet, but on returning from M. Beauchamp’s, I found madame in tears; she had sent for me to know when you would return. I told her my orders from M. Beauchamp; she first extended her arms to prevent me, but after a moment’s reflection, ‘Yes, go, Florentin,’ said she, ‘and may he come quickly.’”
“Yes, my mother,” said Albert, “I will return, and woe to the infamous wretch! But first of all I must get there.”
He went back to the room where he had left Monte Cristo. Five minutes had sufficed to make a complete transformation in his appearance. His voice had become rough and hoarse; his face was furrowed with wrinkles; his eyes burned under the blue-veined lids, and he tottered like a drunken man.
“Count,” said he, “I thank you for your hospitality, which I would gladly have enjoyed longer; but I must return to Paris.”
“What has happened?”
“A great misfortune, more important to me than life. Don’t question me, I beg of you, but lend me a horse.”