The Count of Monte Cristo

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in a voice scarcely intelligible,--"Home, home." The fresh air and the
shame he felt at having exposed himself before his servants, partly
recalled his senses, but the ride was short, and as he drew near his
house all his wretchedness revived. He stopped at a short distance from
the house and alighted.

The door was wide open, a hackney-coach was standing in the middle of
the yard--a strange sight before so noble a mansion; the count looked
at it with terror, but without daring to inquire its meaning, he rushed
towards his apartment. Two persons were coming down the stairs; he had
only time to creep into an alcove to avoid them. It was Mercedes leaning
on her son's arm and leaving the house. They passed close by the unhappy
being, who, concealed behind the damask curtain, almost felt Mercedes
dress brush past him, and his son's warm breath, pronouncing these
words,--"Courage, mother! Come, this is no longer our home!" The words
died away, the steps were lost in the distance. The general drew himself
up, clinging to the curtain; he uttered the most dreadful sob which ever