The Count of Monte Cristo

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"No vampire," cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo" added Debray.
"There is half-past ten striking, Albert."

"Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to breakfast,"
continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock had not died away when
Germain announced, "His excellency the Count of Monte Cristo." The
involuntary start every one gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative
had impressed them, and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from
manifesting sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the
street, or steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself opened
noiselessly. The count appeared, dressed with the greatest simplicity,
but the most fastidious dandy could have found nothing to cavil at in
his toilet. Every article of dress--hat, coat, gloves, and boots--was
from the first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what
struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait Debray had
drawn. The count advanced, smiling, into the centre of the room, and
approached Albert, who hastened towards him holding out his hand in a