"Jacopo, Coucou," said the count, "I intrust Spero to you, and let no one fire until I do. The first shot belongs to me. If I should miss the lion, then you can take your turn."
A new uproar was heard, followed by the report of a gun.
"A man seems to have attacked the beast," said the count, running in the direction whence the sound proceeded.
To his horror he saw a man lying on the ground, and the lion standing over him with one paw on his breast. It was Bertuccio, Benedetto's foster-father. Carefully, fearlessly, looking into the yellow eye of the king of beasts, Monte-Cristo advanced. The lion growled. The slightest movement would have caused Bertuccio's death. With a bound it sprang at the count. Quick as thought the latter fired. With a roar of pain the majestic beast turned in the air and fell to the ground, dead. The next minute the count knelt at Bertuccio's side. The latter was unconscious. The count raised his pale face, and, dashing some water over it, gradually restored the old man to his senses.
"Bertuccio," he softly said, "do you know me?"
"Yes, master. Ah, the lion has finished me! Its claws were buried like daggers in my breast."
"Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no wish to be carried out? Speak, you know I am your friend."
"Quick, quick!" he whispered, breathlessly; "one more—drop—Spero—you—"
"Drink!" said the count, placing a bottle to his lips.
"Master, beware of your enemies. I saw them, I followed them, and then I met the lion."