The Count of Monte Cristo

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"And those of the second floor?"

"You know they are never closed. Go!"

The count signified his intention of dining alone, and that no one but
Ali should attend him. Having dined with his usual tranquillity and
moderation, the count, making a signal to Ali to follow him, went out
by the side-gate and on reaching the Bois de Boulogne turned, apparently
without design towards Paris and at twilight; found himself opposite his
house in the Champs-Elysees. All was dark; one solitary, feeble light
was burning in the porter's lodge, about forty paces distant from the
house, as Baptistin had said. Monte Cristo leaned against a tree, and
with that scrutinizing glance which was so rarely deceived, looked up
and down the avenue, examined the passers-by, and carefully looked down
the neighboring streets, to see that no one was concealed. Ten minutes
passed thus, and he was convinced that no one was watching him. He
hastened to the side-door with Ali, entered hurriedly, and by the