And pressing his lips on the hand of Julie, who rushed into his arms, he extended his other hand to Emmanuel; then tearing himself from this abode of peace and happiness, he made a sign to Maximilian, who followed him passively, with the indifference which had been perceptible in him ever since the death of Valentine had so stunned him.
“Restore my brother to peace and happiness,” whispered Julie to Monte Cristo. And the count pressed her hand in reply, as he had done eleven years before on the staircase leading to Morrel’s study.
“You still confide, then, in Sinbad the Sailor?” asked he, smiling.
“Oh, yes,” was the ready answer.
“Well, then, sleep in peace, and put your trust in the Lord.”
As we have before said, the post-chaise was waiting; four powerful horses were already pawing the ground with impatience, while Ali, apparently just arrived from a long walk, was standing at the foot of the steps, his face bathed in perspiration.
“Well,” asked the count in Arabic, “have you been to see the old man?” Ali made a sign in the affirmative.
“And have you placed the letter before him, as I ordered you to do?”
The slave respectfully signalized that he had.
“And what did he say, or rather do?” Ali placed himself in the light, so that his master might see him distinctly, and then imitating in his intelligent manner the countenance of the old man, he closed his eyes, as Noirtier was in the custom of doing when saying “Yes.”
“Good; he accepts,” said Monte Cristo. “Now let us go.”