At precisely six o'clock the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard at the entrance door: it was our captain of Spahis, who had arrived on Medeah. "I am sure I am the first," cried Morrel; "I did it on purpose to have you a minute to myself, before every one came. Julie and Emmanuel have a thousand things to tell you. Ah! really, this is magnificent! But tell me, count, will your people take care of my horse!"
"Do not alarm yourself, my dear Maximilian they understand."
"I mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a pace he came, like the wind!"
"I should think so,—a horse that cost five thousand francs!" said Monte-Cristo, in the tone which a father would use toward a son.
"Do you regret them?" asked Morrel, with his open laugh.
"I? Certainly not!" replied the count. "No; I should only regret if the horse had not proved good."
"It is so good, that I have distanced M. de Chateau-Renaud, one of the best riders in France, and M. Debray, who both mount the minister's Arabians; and close at their heels are the horses of Madame Danglars, that always go at six leagues an hour."
"Then they follow you!" asked Monte-Cristo.
"See, they are here!" And at the same minute a carriage with smoking horses, accompanied by two mounted gentlemen, arrived at the gate, which opened before them. The carriage drove round, and stopped at the steps, followed by the horsemen.
The instant Debray had touched the ground, he was at the carriage-door. He offered his hand to the baroness, who, descending, took it with a peculiarity of manner imperceptible to every one but Monte-Cristo. But nothing escaped the count's notice; and he observed a little note, slipped with an indescribable ease, bespeaking the frequent practice of this manoeuvre, from the hand of Madame Danglars to that of the minister's secretary.
After his wife the banker descended, pale, as though he had issued from his tomb instead of his carnage.
Madame Danglars threw a rapid and inquiring glance around, which could only be interpreted by Monte-Cristo, embracing the court-yard, the peristyle, and the front of the house; then, repressing a slight emotion, which must have been seen on her countenance if she had permitted her face to become pale, she ascended the steps, saying to Morrel:
"Sir, if you were a friend of mine, I should ask you if you would sell your horse."
Morrel smiled with an expression very like a grimace, and then turned round to Monte-Cristo, as if to ask him to extricate him from his embarrassment. The count understood him.
