Ever since Valentine’s dowry had been mentioned, Morrel had been silent and sad.

“Can you imagine,” said Monte Cristo, “some Othello or Abbé de Ganges, one stormy, dark night, descending these stairs step by step, carrying a load, which he wishes to hide from the sight of man, if not from God?”

Madame Danglars half fainted on the arm of Villefort, who was obliged to support himself against the wall.

“Ah, madame,” cried Debray, “what is the matter with you? how pale you look!”

“It is very evident what is the matter with her,” said Madame de Villefort; “ M. de Monte Cristo is relating horrible stories to us, doubtless intending to frighten us to death.”

“Yes,” said Villefort, “really, count, you frighten the ladies.”