Граф Монте-Кристо

The Breakfast.

           

           "Tobesure;besides,everymillionaireisasnobleasabastard—thatis,hecanbe."

           "Donotsaythat,Debray,"returnedBeauchamp,laughing,"forhereisChateau–Renaud,who,tocureyouofyourmaniaforparadoxes,willpasstheswordofRenauddeMontauban,hisancestor,throughyourbody."

           "Hewillsullyitthen,"returnedLucien;"forIamlow—verylow."

           "Oh,heavens,"criedBeauchamp,"theministerquotesBeranger,whatshallwecometonext?"

           "M.deChateau–Renaud—M.MaximilianMorrel,"saidtheservant,announcingtwofreshguests.

           "Now,then,tobreakfast,"saidBeauchamp;"for,ifIremember,youtoldmeyouonlyexpectedtwopersons,Albert."

           "Morrel,"mutteredAlbert—"Morrel—whoishe?"Butbeforehehadfinished,M.deChateau–Renaud,ahandsomeyoungmanofthirty,gentlemanallover—thatis,withthefigureofaGuicheandthewitofaMortemart—tookAlbert’shand."MydearAlbert,"saidhe,"letmeintroducetoyouM.MaximilianMorrel,captainofSpahis,myfriend;andwhatismore—howeverthemanspeaksforhimself—mypreserver.Salutemyhero,viscount."Andhesteppedononesidetogiveplacetoayoungmanofrefinedanddignifiedbearing,withlargeandopenbrow,piercingeyes,andblackmustache,whomourreadershavealreadyseenatMarseilles,undercircumstancessufficientlydramaticnottobeforgotten.

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