And so silence fell upon them.
As they entered the drawing-room a clock chimed the half hour.
“So late as that!” exclaimed Bertha, and sank into a chair with a faint laugh. “Why, to-day is over,” she said. “It is to-morrow.”
M. Villefort had approached a side table. Upon it lay a peculiar-looking oblong box.
“Ah,” he said, softly, “they have arrived.”
“What are they?” Bertha asked.
He was bending over the box to open it, and did not turn toward her, as he replied:—
“It is a gift for a young friend of mine,—a brace of pistols. He has before him a long journey in the East, and he is young enough to have a fancy for firearms.”
He was still examining the weapons when Bertha crossed the room on her way up-stairs, and she paused an instant to look at them.
“They are very handsome,” she said. “One could almost wear them as ornaments.”