The Insult
At the banker’s door Beauchamp stopped Morcerf.
“Listen,” said he; “just now I told you it was of M. de Monte Cristo you must demand an explanation.”
“Yes; and we are going to his house.”
“Reflect, Morcerf, one moment before you go.”
“On what shall I reflect?”
“On the importance of the step you are taking.”
“Is it more serious than going to M. Danglars?”
“Yes; M. Danglars is a money-lover, and those who love money, you know, think too much of what they risk to be easily induced to fight a duel. The other is, on the contrary, to all appearance a true nobleman; but do you not fear to find him a bully?”
“I only fear one thing; namely, to find a man who will not fight.”
“Do not be alarmed,” said Beauchamp; “he will meet you. My only fear is that he will be too strong for you.”
“My friend,” said Morcerf, with a sweet smile, “that is what I wish. The happiest thing that could occur to me, would be to die in my father’s stead; that would save us all.”
“Your mother would die of grief.”