Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 4).djvu/76

58 "My father howled aloud; he plunged his fingers into the holes which the balls had made, and tore up one of the planks entire. But immediately through this opening twenty shots were tired, and the flame, rushing up like fire from the crater of a volcano, gained the tapestry, which it devoured. In the midst of all this frightful tumult and these terrific cries, two reports, fearfully distinct, followed by two shrieks more heartrending than all, froze me with terror; these two shots had mortally wounded my father, and it was he who had given utterance to these frightful cries. However, he remained standing, clinging to a window. My mother tried to force the door, that she might go and die with him, but it was fastened on the inside. All around him were lying the Palicares, writhing in the death-throw, whilst two or three, who were only slightly wounded, sprang from the windows. At this crisis the whole flooring suddenly gave way; my father fell on one knee, and at the same moment twenty hands were thrust forth, armed with sabers, pistols, and poniards―twenty blows were instantaneously directed against one man, and my father disappeared in a whirlwind of fire kindled by these demons, as if hell itself were opening beneath his feet. I felt myself fall to the ground; it was my mother who had fainted."

Haydée's arms fell by her side, and she uttered a deep groan, at the same time looking toward the count, as if to ask if he were satisfied with her obedience to his commands.

Monte-Cristo rose and approached her; he took her hand, and said to her in Romaic:

"Calm yourself, my dear child, and take courage in remembering that there is a God who will punish traitors."

"It is a frightful story, count," said Albert, terrified at the paleness of Haydée's countenance, "and I reproach myself now for having been so cruelly thoughtless."

"Oh, it is nothing!" said Monte-Cristo. Then patting the young girl on the head, he continued:

"Haydée is very courageous; and she sometimes even finds consolation in the recital of her misfortunes."

"Because, my lord," said Haydée, eagerly, "my miseries recall to me your goodness."

Albert looked at her with curiosity, for she had not yet related what he most desired to know,―namely, how she had become the slave of the count. Haydée saw at a glance the same expression in the countenances of her two auditors; she continued:

"When my mother recovered her senses we were before the Seraskier. 'Kill me,' said she,' but spare the honor of the widow of Ali.'―'It is not me to whom you must address yourself,' said Kourchid.―'To whom,