Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 3).djvu/308

288 Mercedes let them fall, and sighed. A magnificent peach was hanging against an adjoining wall, ripened by the same artificial heat. Mercedes drew near, and plucked the fruit.

"Take this peach, then," she said. The count again refused. "What, again!" she exclaimed, in so plaintive an accent that it seemed but to stifle a sob; "really, you pain me." A long silence succeeded this scene; the peach, like the grapes, was rolling on the ground.

"Count," added Mercedes, with a supplicating glance, "there is a beautiful Arabian custom, which makes eternal friends of those who have together eaten bread and salt beneath the same roof."

"I know it, madaine," replied the count; "but we are in France, and not in Arabia; and in France eternal friendships are as rare as the custom of dividing bread and salt with one another."

"But," said the countess, breathlessly, with her eyes fixed on Monte-Cristo, whose arm she convulsively pressed with both hands, "we un friends, are we not?"

The count became pale as death, the blood rushed to his heart, and then again rising, dyed his cheeks with crimson; his eyes swam for some seconds like those of a man suddenly dazzled.

"Certainly, we are friends," he replied; "why should we not be such?"

The answer was so little like the one Mercedes desired, that she turned away to give vent to a sigh, which sounded more like a groan.

"Thank you," she said. And they recommenced walking. They went the whole length of the garden without uttering a word.

"Sir," suddenly exclaimed the countess, after their walk had continued ten minutes in silence, "is it true that you have seen so much, traveled so far, and suffered so deeply!"

"I have suffered deeply, madame," answered Monte-Cristo.

"But now you are happy?"

"Doubtless," replied the count, "since no one hears me complain."

"And your present happiness, has it softened your heart?"

"My present happiness equals my past misery."

"Are you not married?" asked the countess.

"I, married!" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, shuddering; "who could have told you so?"

"No one told me you were; but you have frequently been seen at the Opera with a young and lovely person."

"She is a slave whom I bought at Constantinople, madame, the daughter of a prince. I have adopted her as my daughter, having no one else to love in the world."

"You live alone, then?"

"I do."