My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled.  It was Lucien who was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.

“The fact is,” he said, “I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once.”

I at once thought of the letter I had sent.  In five days it could not have reached Sullacro.

“Good heaven!” I cried.  “Nothing is known to you?”

“Everything is known,” he said quietly.

Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother’s house, the people were so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.

“Tell me,” I said, when we were alone.  “You must have been on your way here when you heard the fatal news?”

“On the contrary, I was at Sullacro.  Have you for-forgotten what I told you about the apparitions in my family?”

“Has your brother appeared to you?” I cried.

“Yes.  He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Chateau-Renard.  I saw my brother in his room the day he was killed,” Lucien went on, “and that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and heard the name of M. de Chateau-Renard.  And I have come to Paris to kill the man who killed my brother.  My brother had never touched a pistol in his life, and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag.  My mother knows why I have come.  She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me on the forehead and said ‘Go!’”

The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to Chateau-Renard.  Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had never been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot where his brother had fallen.  He turned round, walked twenty paces, and said, “This is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here.”

Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Chateau-Renard.  The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we assembled in the fatal glade.  Chateau-Renard was obviously uneasy.  The signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Chateau-Renard fell, shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.

Then, for the first time since Louis’ death, Lucien burst into tears.  He dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms.  “My brother, my dear brother!” he cried.

* * * * *

The Count of Monte Cristo

      “The Count of Monte Cristo” appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
     been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a
     period when he was most extraordinarily prolific.  In that
     year, assisted by his staff of compilers and transcribers, he
     is said to have turned out something like forty volumes! 
     “Monte Cristo” first gave Dumas’ novels a world-wide audience. 
     Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of