So saying, he placed in my hand a miniature silver trumpet, beautifully wrought, which I immediately placed to my ear.
Monte-Christo drew himself up to his full height, fixed his fine eyes earnestly upon vacuity, made several passes upwards with his hand, and then said,
“My friend, do you hear me? If so, answer.”
Immediately, and to my unexpected surprise, there thrilled through the silver tube a whisper of miraculous sweetness.
“Great master! I listen—I obey!”
“May St Mungo, St Mirren, St Rollox, and all the other western saints, have me in their keeping!” cried I. “Heard ever mortal man aught like this?”
“Hush—be silent!” said the Marquis, “or you may destroy the spell. Leontine, have you concluded the chapter?”
“I have,” said the voice; “shall I read the last sentences?”
“Do,” replied the adept, who seemed to hear the response simultaneously with myself, by intuition.
The voice went on: “At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and Chon rushed into the room. ‘Well, my little sister, how goes it?’ said the Countess. ‘Bad.’ ‘Indeed!’ ‘It is but too true.’ ‘De Noailles?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ha! D’Aiguillon?’ ‘You deceive yourself.’ ‘Who then?’ ‘Philip de Taverney, the Chevalier Maison-Rouge!’ ‘Ha!’ cried the Countess, ‘then I am lost!’ and she sank senseless upon the cushions.”