“Ali, a horse for M. de Morcerf—quick! he is in a hurry!”
These words restored Albert; he darted from the room, followed by the count.
“Thank you!” cried he, throwing himself on his horse.
“Return as soon as you can, Florentin. Must I use any password to procure a horse?”
“Only dismount; another will be immediately saddled.”
Albert hesitated a moment.
“You may think my departure strange and foolish,” said the young man; “you do not know how a paragraph in a newspaper may exasperate one. Read that,” said he, “when I am gone, that you may not be witness of my anger.”
While the count picked up the paper he put spurs to his horse, which leaped in astonishment at such an unusual stimulus, and shot away with the rapidity of an arrow.
The count watched him with a feeling of compassion, and when he had completely disappeared, read as follows:
“The French officer in the service of Ali Pasha of Yanina alluded to three weeks since in L’Impartial , who not only surrendered the castle of Yanina, but sold his benefactor to the Turks, styled himself truly at that time Fernand, as our esteemed contemporary states; but he has since added to his Christian name a title of nobility and a family name. He now calls himself the Count of Morcerf, and ranks among the peers.”