just as those who have been tossed on the stormy ocean on a few frail planks can alone estimate the value of a clear sky."
Monte-Cristo rose, and without making any answer (for the tremulousness of his voice would have betrayed his emotion), walked up and down the apartment with a slow step.
"Our magnificence makes you smile, M. le Comte," said Maximilian, who had followed him with his eyes.
"No, no," returned Monte-Cristo, pale as death, pressing one hand on his heart to still its throbbings, whilst with the other he pointed to a crystal cover, beneath which a silken purse lay on a black velvet cushion. "I was wondering what could be the use of this purse, which contains a paper at one end and at the other a large diamond."
"M. le Comte," replied Maximilian, with an air of gravity, "those are our most precious family treasures."
"The stone seems very brilliant," answered the count.
"Oh, my brother does not allude to its value, although it has been estimated at one hundred thousand francs; he means that the articles contained in this purse are the relics of the angel I spoke of just now."
"This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an explanation, madame," replied Monte-Cristo, bowing. "Pardon me, I had no intention of committing an indiscretion."
"Indiscretion!—oh, you make us happy by giving us an occasion of expatiating on this subject. Did we intend to conceal the noble action this purse commemorates, we should not expose it thus. Oh! would we could relate it everywhere, and to every one, so that the emotion of our unknown benefactor might reveal his presence."
"Ah! really," said Monte-Cristo, in a half-stifled voice.
"Monsieur," returned Maximilian, raising the glass cover, and respect fully kissing the silken purse, "this has touched the hand of a man who saved my father from suicide, us from ruin, and our name from shame and disgrace,—a man by whose matchless benevolence we, poor children, doomed to want and wretchedness, can at present hear every one envying our happy lot. This letter" (as he spoke, Maximilian drew a letter from the purse and gave it to the count)—"this letter was written by him the day that my father had taken a desperate resolution, and this diamond was given by the generous unknown to my sister as her dowry."
Monte-Cristo opened the letter, and read it with an indescribable feeling of delight. It was the letter written (as our readers know) to Julie, and signed "Sindbad the Sailor."
"Unknown, you say, is the man who rendered you this service—unknown to you?"
