“Your pardon,” replied Danglars, “I merely said you seemed in a hurry, and we have lots of time; the Pharaon cannot be underway again in less than three months.”
“We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in good fortune. But it is not selfishness alone that makes me thus in haste; I must go to Paris.”
“Ah, really?—to Paris! and will it be the first time you have ever been there, Dantès?”
“Yes.”
“Have you business there?”
“Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclère; you know to what I allude, Danglars—it is sacred. Besides, I shall only take the time to go and return.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” said Danglars, and then in a low tone, he added, “To Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter which the grand marshal gave him. Ah, this letter gives me an idea—a capital idea! Ah; Dantès, my friend, you are not yet registered number one on board the good ship Pharaon ;” then turning towards Edmond, who was walking away, “A pleasant journey,” he cried.
“Thank you,” said Edmond with a friendly nod, and the two lovers continued on their way, as calm and joyous as if they were the very elect of heaven.