that day I owed an offering to bad fortune in recompense for the favors good fortune had on other days granted to us.”
“The history to which M. Morrel alludes,” continued Château-Renaud, “is an admirable one, which he will tell you some day when you are better acquainted with him; today let us fill our stomachs, and not our memories. What time do you breakfast, Albert?”
“At half-past ten.”
“Precisely?” asked Debray, taking out his watch.
“Oh, you will give me five minutes’ grace,” replied Morcerf, “for I also expect a preserver.”
“Of whom?”
“Of myself,” cried Morcerf; “ parbleu! do you think I cannot be saved as well as anyone else, and that there are only Arabs who cut off heads? Our breakfast is a philanthropic one, and we shall have at table—at least, I hope so—two benefactors of humanity.”
“What shall we do?” said Debray; “we have only one Monthyon prize.”
“Well, it will be given to someone who has done nothing to deserve it,” said Beauchamp; “that is the way the Academy mostly escapes from the dilemma.”
“And where does he come from?” asked Debray. “You have already answered the question once, but so vaguely that I venture to put it a second time.”
“Really,” said Albert, “I do not know; when I invited him three months ago, he was then at Rome, but since that time who knows where he may have gone?”