The Count of Monte Cristo

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spectators of this scene. They had talked of no one but Morcerf the
whole day. Albert understood the allusion in a moment, and was about
to throw his glove at the count, when Morrel seized his hand, while
Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud, fearing the scene would surpass the limits
of a challenge, held him back. But Monte Cristo, without rising, and
leaning forward in his chair, merely stretched out his arm and, taking
the damp, crushed glove from the clinched hand of the young man, "Sir,"
said he in a solemn tone, "I consider your glove thrown, and will return
it to you wrapped around a bullet. Now leave me or I will summon my
servants to throw you out at the door."

Wild, almost unconscious, and with eyes inflamed, Albert stepped back,
and Morrel closed the door. Monte Cristo took up his glass again as if
nothing had happened; his face was like marble, and his heart was like
bronze. Morrel whispered, "What have you done to him?"

"I? Nothing--at least personally," said Monte Cristo.