“My friend,” said Morcerf, with a sweet smile, “that is what I wish. The happiest thing that could occur to me, would be to die in my father’s stead; that would save us all.”
“Your mother would die of grief.”
“My poor mother!” said Albert, passing his hand across his eyes, “I know she would; but better so than die of shame.”
“Are you quite decided, Albert?”
“Yes; let us go.”
“But do you think we shall find the count at home?”
“He intended returning some hours after me, and doubtless he is now at home.”
They ordered the driver to take them to No. 30 Champs-Élysées. Beauchamp wished to go in alone, but Albert observed that as this was an unusual circumstance he might be allowed to deviate from the usual etiquette of duels. The cause which the young man espoused was one so sacred that Beauchamp had only to comply with all his wishes; he yielded and contented himself with following Morcerf. Albert sprang from the porter’s lodge to the steps. He was received by Baptistin. The count had, indeed, just arrived, but he was in his bath, and had forbidden that anyone should be admitted.
“But after his bath?” asked Morcerf.
“My master will go to dinner.”