"You have written to Vampa!" exclaimed the young man, with a terror-stricken look. "Then all is lost!" M. Dantes smiled, and, rising, placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "Esperance," said he, calmly, "if neither crime nor dishonor attaches to you in this affair, as you have sworn, you have nothing whatever to fear, and, besides, Vampa's disclosures may relieve you of some portion of your heavy burden." "Oh! God!" groaned the young man, "if Vampa speaks how shall I be able to prove my innocence!" "My son," said M. Dantes, impressively, "God, whose name you have invoked, will not desert you in your hour of need!" Bowing his head in his hands and trembling like an aspen leaf, Esperance quitted the library with a convulsive sob, as if the last ray of hope had been withdrawn from his life and all was darkness and despair. M. Dantes threw himself in his chair and for an instant was plunged in absorbing thought; then he arose and putting on his hat and cloak left the library; a few moments later he had quitted the mansion by a private door. Closely muffling his face in the folds of his cloak, that he might not be recognized, the Deputy from Marseilles passed hurriedly from street to street until he stood before a massive building in the Rue Vivienne. He rang the bell, and, when the concierge appeared, said to her: "Is the Viscount Massetti at home?" The woman, a large, fat, lumbering creature, cast a sleepy glance, that was half-curious, half-suspicious, at him and answered: "Yes, Monsieur; but he bade me deny him to everybody." "He will see me, however, my good woman," said M. Dantes. "Take my card to him." The fat concierge took the card and glanced at it; when she read "Edmond Dantes, Deputy from Marseilles," she stared at the famous Republican leader like one possessed; then, filled with awe, she hastened away and climbed the stairs as fast as her cumbersome legs would let her. She returned, panting and puffing, followed by the Viscount's valet, who, with much ceremony and obsequiousness, conducted the distinguished visitor to his master's apartments. The salon into which M. Dantes was ushered was large and sumptuously furnished; evidences of wealth and luxury were visible on every side, while everything displayed the utmost taste and elegance. "To what am I indebted for the honor of this unexpected visit, my dear Count?" said Massetti, rising from a handsomely carved, red velvet upholstered arm-chair, in which he had been indolently reclining, and coming forward to greet his guest. "To a matter that concerns both of us deeply," replied the Deputy, in a meaning tone. A shadow crossed the Viscount's handsome visage, but it was gone in an instant, and he said, with the utmost politeness: "Pray be seated, my dear Count, and before proceeding to business refresh yourself with a glass of rare old Burgundy. Here, Stephano, wine and glasses."