"How who knows?" said Monte-Cristo, laughingly.
"What do you wish to say by that assertion, master? Do you believe Jacopo will be remiss in fulfilling his promise?"
"Who knows?" repeated the count, still laughing, and then, drawing out his pocketbook, he said in an earnest tone: "Jacopo, you have a secret."
"I?"
"Why avoid my question? Your blushing cheeks convict you of untruth, and then you ought to know me sufficiently; you know that my looks can penetrate the innermost depths of thy soul."
Jacopo bent down his head, turned the cap in his hand confusedly, and became red like a red garden flower.
"Am I to tell you that I am able to read you to the bottom of your heart?"
"Master—"
"I read there a name—"
Jacopo trembled, and grasped a chair to support himself.