Maximilian had scarcely finished his story, during which the count's heart had seemed ready to burst, when Emmanuel entered, clad in a hat and coat. He saluted the count with the air of a man who is aware of the rank of his guest; then, after having led Monte-Cristo round the little garden, he returned to the house.
A large vase of Japan porcelain, filled with flowers that impregnated the air with their perfume, stood in the salon. Julie, suitably dressed, and her hair arranged (she had accomplished this feat in less than ten minutes), received the count on his entrance. The songs of the birds were heard in an aviary hard by—the branches of false ebony- trees and rose acacias forming the border of the blue velvet curtains. Everything in this charming retreat, from the warble of the birds to the smile of the mistress, breathed tranquillity and repose.
The count had felt, from the moment he entered the house, the influence of this happiness, and he remained silent and pensive, forget ting that he was expected to recommence the conversation, which had ceased after the first salutations had been exchanged. He perceived the pause, and, by a violent effort, tearing himself from his pleasing reverie,—
"Madame," said he, at length, "I pray you to excuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only accustomed to the happiness I meet here; but satisfaction is so new a sight to me, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your husband."
"We are very happy, monsieur," replied Julie; "but we have also known unhappiness, and few have ever undergone more bitter sufferings than ourselves."
The count's features displayed an expression of the most intense curiosity.
"Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you the other day," observed Maximilian. "This humble picture would have but little interest for you, accustomed, as you are, to behold the pleasures and the misfortunes of the wealthy and the illustrious; but such as we are, we have experienced bitter sorrows."
"And God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does to all those who are in affliction?" said Monte-Cristo, inquiringly.
"Yes, M. le Comte," returned Julie, "we may indeed say he has, for he has done for us what he grants only to his chosen; he sent us one of his angels."
The count's cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed, in order to have an excuse for putting his handkerchief to his mouth.
"Those born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying every wish," said Emmanuel, "know not what is the real happiness of life;
