"My son," said M. Dantès, impressively, "God, whose name you have invoked, will not desert you in your hour of need!"
Bowing his head in his hands and trembling like an aspen leaf, Espérance quitted the library with a convulsive sob, as if the last ray of hope had been withdrawn from his life and all was darkness and despair.
M. Dantès threw himself in his chair and for an instant was plunged in absorbing thought; then he arose and putting on his hat and cloak left the library; a few moments later he had quitted the mansion by a private door.
Closely muffling his face in the folds of his cloak, that he might not be recognized, the Deputy from Marseilles passed hurriedly from street to street until he stood before a massive building in the Rue Vivienne. He rang the bell, and, when the concierge appeared, said to her: "Is the Viscount Massetti at home?"
The woman, a large, fat, lumbering creature, cast a sleepy glance, that was half-curious, half-suspicious, at him and answered: "Yes, Monsieur; but he bade me deny him to everybody."
"He will see me, however, my good woman," said M. Dantès. "Take my card to him."
The fat concierge took the card and glanced at it; when she read "Edmond Dantès, Deputy from Marseilles," she stared at the famous Republican leader like one possessed; then, filled with awe, she hastened away and climbed the stairs as fast as her cumbersome legs would let her. She returned, panting and puffing, followed by the Viscount's valet, who, with much ceremony and obsequiousness, conducted the distinguished visitor to his master's apartments.
The salon into which M. Dantès was ushered was large and sumptuously furnished; evidences of wealth and luxury were visible on every side, while everything displayed the utmost taste and elegance.
"To what am I indebted for the honor of this unexpected visit, my dear Count?" said Massetti, rising from a handsomely carved, red velvet upholstered arm-chair, in which he had been indolently reclining, and coming forward to greet his guest.
"To a matter that concerns both of us deeply," replied the Deputy, in a meaning tone.
A shadow crossed the Viscount's handsome visage, but it was gone in an instant, and he said, with the utmost politeness: "Pray be seated, my dear Count, and before proceeding to business refresh yourself with a glass of rare old Burgundy. Here, Stephano, wine and glasses."
M. Dantès sat down in an arm-chair precisely resembling that from which the Viscount had arisen; Massetti resumed his seat and the valet brought the old Burgundy and glasses, placing the decanter and drinking vessels on a small table of glistening ebony between his master and the Deputy. After they had duly drunk each other's health, M. Dantès said: "I regret, my dear Viscount, that I am compelled to disturb you, but my business was too urgent for delay."