"Go then," she said with a charming smile that accompanied the Count until he had vanished from sight again.
There was no key to the glass door that led to Meurtrier's apartments, where Morrie had shut himself, and a double curtain of vermilion rendered it impossible to see within.
Monte Fato shuddered from the head to the feet, and, as for him decision had the rapidity of an éclair, he called down a bolt of lightning that blew open the door with éclat: he saw Morrie with pen in hand leap in astonishment.
"Ma foi, it's the fault of your domestics," said Monte Fato. "They could at least have placed a charm of protection on this door in case a supernatural being wished to enter."
"Are you hurt, monsieur?" inquired Morrie coldly.
"I know not. But what were you doing in here? You were writing?"
"It is true, I was writing," said Morrie. "That happens now and then, soldier though I be."
Monte Fato looked around. "Your blunderbusses on your writing desk!" he cried.
"I'm leaving on a journey, like the chevalier de Nigle" said Morrie.
