The Count of Monte Cristo

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arose, and offered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen him
seated, resumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthy
merchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this history,
was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time and sorrow
had ploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his look, once so firm and
penetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as if he feared being
forced to fix his attention on some particular thought or person. The
Englishman looked at him with an air of curiosity, evidently mingled
with interest. "Monsieur," said Morrel, whose uneasiness was increased
by this examination, "you wish to speak to me?"

"Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?"

"The house of Thomson & French; at least, so my cashier tells me."

"He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson & French had 300,000 or
400,000 francs to pay this month in France; and, knowing your strict