The Count of Monte Cristo

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melancholy and motionless position for some time after his two friends
had regained their carriage; then suddenly unfastening his horse
from the little tree to which his servant had tied it, he mounted and
galloped off in the direction of Paris.

In a quarter of an hour he was entering the house in the Rue du Helder.
As he alighted, he thought he saw his father's pale face behind the
curtain of the count's bedroom. Albert turned away his head with a sigh,
and went to his own apartments. He cast one lingering look on all the
luxuries which had rendered life so easy and so happy since his
infancy; he looked at the pictures, whose faces seemed to smile, and the
landscapes, which appeared painted in brighter colors. Then he took away
his mother's portrait, with its oaken frame, leaving the gilt frame from
which he took it black and empty. Then he arranged all his beautiful
Turkish arms, his fine English guns, his Japanese china, his cups
mounted in silver, his artistic bronzes by Feucheres and Barye; examined
the cupboards, and placed the key in each; threw into a drawer of his