was set apart for Maximilian; it was precisely similar to his sister’s apartments, except that for the breakfast-parlor he had a billiard-room, where he received his friends. He was superintending the grooming of his horse, and smoking his cigar at the entrance of the garden, when the count’s carriage stopped at the gate.
Cocles opened the gate, and Baptistin, springing from the box, inquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and Monsieur Maximilian Morrel would see his excellency the Count of Monte Cristo.
“The Count of Monte Cristo?” cried Morrel, throwing away his cigar and hastening to the carriage; “I should think we would see him. Ah, a thousand thanks, count, for not having forgotten your promise.”
And the young officer shook the count’s hand so warmly, that Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of his joy, and he saw that he had been expected with impatience, and was received with pleasure.
“Come, come,” said Maximilian, “I will serve as your guide; such a man as you are ought not to be