“Well, never mind that, neighbor Caderousse; it is not worthwhile to contradict me for such a trifle as that. ’Tis true that Mercédès is not actually my wife; but,” added he, drawing out his watch, “in an hour and a half she will be.”
A general exclamation of surprise ran round the table, with the exception of the elder Dantès, whose laugh displayed the still perfect beauty of his large white teeth. Mercédès looked pleased and gratified, while Fernand grasped the handle of his knife with a convulsive clutch.
“In an hour?” inquired Danglars, turning pale. “How is that, my friend?”
“Why, thus it is,” replied Dantès. “Thanks to the influence of M. Morrel, to whom, next to my father, I owe every blessing I enjoy, every difficulty has been removed. We have purchased permission to waive the usual delay; and at half-past two o’clock the Mayor of Marseilles will be waiting for us at the city hall. Now, as a quarter-past one has already struck, I do not consider I have asserted too much in saying, that, in another hour and thirty minutes Mercédès will have become Madame Dantès.”
Fernand closed his eyes, a burning sensation passed across his brow, and he was compelled to support himself by the table to prevent his falling from his chair; but in spite of all his efforts, he could not refrain from uttering a deep groan, which, however, was lost amid the noisy felicitations of the company.
“Upon my word,” cried the old man, “you make short work of this kind of affair. Arrived here only yesterday morning, and married today at three o’clock! Commend me to a sailor for going the quick way to work!”
“But,” asked Danglars, in a timid tone, “how did you manage about the other formalities—the contract—the settlement?”