“The horse?” said Morcerf, laughing.
“No, the sacrifice,” returned Château-Renaud; “ask Debray if he would sacrifice his English steed for a stranger?”
“Not for a stranger,” said Debray, “but for a friend I might, perhaps.”
“I divined that you would become mine, count,” replied Morrel; “besides, as I had the honor to tell you, heroism or not, sacrifice or not, that day I owed an offering to bad fortune in recompense for the favors good fortune had on other days granted to us.”
“The history to which M. Morrel alludes,” continued Château-Renaud, “is an admirable one, which he will tell you some day when you are better acquainted with him; today let us fill our stomachs, and not our memories. What time do you breakfast, Albert?”
“At half-past ten.”
“Precisely?” asked Debray, taking out his watch.
“Oh, you will give me five minutes’ grace,” replied Morcerf, “for I also expect a preserver.”
“Of whom?”
“Of myself,” cried Morcerf; “parbleu! do you think I cannot be saved as well as anyone else, and that there are only Arabs who cut off heads? Our breakfast is a philanthropic one, and we shall have at table—at least, I hope so—two benefactors of humanity.”