“Enough,” said Morrel; “who is your second witness?”
“I know no one in Paris, Morrel, on whom I could confer that honor besides you and your brother Emmanuel. Do you think Emmanuel would oblige me?”
“I will answer for him, count.”
“Well? that is all I require. Tomorrow morning, at seven o’clock, you will be with me, will you not?”
“We will.”
“Hush, the curtain is rising. Listen! I never lose a note of this opera if I can avoid it; the music of William Tell is so sweet.”
Chapter 89. The Night
Monte Cristo waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez had sung his famous “Suivez-moi!” then he rose and went out. Morrel took leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him the next morning at seven o’clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into his coupé, calm and smiling, and was at home in five minutes. No one who knew the count could mistake his expression when, on entering, he said:
“Ali, bring me my pistols with the ivory cross.”
Ali brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with a solicitude very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life to a little powder and shot. These were pistols of an especial pattern, which Monte Cristo had had made for target practice in his own room. A cap was sufficient to drive out the bullet, and from the adjoining room no one would have suspected that the count was, as sportsmen would say, keeping his hand in.