"Yes, my Jane!"
Sanselme flung himself from one side of the bed to the other in intense agony, and Fanfar asked question after question. He could not tear from the man the smallest information.
Having taken a sedative the sick man fell asleep, but it was plain that his dreams were troubled. Fanfar took up a book, when he heard the door-bell, and Bobichel suddenly appeared all out of breath. He dropped on a chair, and seemed to be in great trouble.
"What is the matter?" asked Fanfar.
"Oh! such a dreadful thing has happened to Monte-Cristo's son!"
"To the Vicomte!" cried Fanfar, leaping from his chair. He seized Bobichel's arm rather roughly, and shaking it, cried, "Will you speak?"
"Yes, master, but I don't know how to tell you that the Vicomte has gone away."
"Gone away, and what of that?"
"But he has disappeared!"
"Who says so?"