Monte Cristo opened the tortoiseshell box, which the lady presented to him, and inhaled the odor of the lozenges with the air of an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their composition.

“They are indeed exquisite,” he said; “but as they are necessarily submitted to the process of deglutition⁠—a function which it is frequently impossible for a fainting person to accomplish⁠—I prefer my own specific.”

“Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I have seen produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am not so indiscreet as to ask it of you.”

“But I,” said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke⁠—“I am gallant enough to offer it you.”

“How kind you are.”