"Then you remember all which was passing around you when you were but three years old?" said Albert.
"All."
"Count," said Albert, in a low tone to Monte-Cristo, "do allow the signora to tell me something of her history. You prohibited my mentioning my father, but perhaps she will speak of him, and you have no idea how delighted I should be to hear our name pronounced by such beautiful lips."
Monte-Cristo turned to Haydée, and with an expression of countenance which commanded her to pay the most implicit attention to his words, he said in Greek, "llατρὸς μὲν ἄτην μήζε τὸ ὄνομα προὁότου χαὶ προὁοσίαν εὶπὲ ἡμῑν,"―that is, "Tell us the fate of your father; but neither the name of the traitor nor the treason." Haydée sighed deeply, and a shade of sadness clouded her beautiful brow.
"What are you saying to her?" said Morcerf, in an undertone.
"I again reminded her that you were a friend, and that she need not conceal anything from you."
"Then," said Albert, "this pious pilgrimage in behalf of the prisoners was your first remembrance; what is the next?"
"Oh! then I remember sitting under the shade of some sycamore trees, on the borders of a lake, in the waters of which the trembling foliage was reflected as in a mirror. Under the oldest and thickest of these trees, reclining on cushions, sat my father; my mother was at his feet, and I, childlike, amused myself by playing with his long, white beard, which descended to his girdle, or with the diamond hilt of the cimeter attached to his girdle. Then, from time to time, there came to him an Albanian, who said something, to which I paid no attention, but which he always answered in the same tone of voice, either 'Kill,' or 'Pardon.'"
"It is very strange," said Albert, "to hear such words from the mouth of any but an actress on the stage; and one needs to be saying to one's self, 'This is no fiction,' in order to believe it. And how does France appear in your eyes, accustomed as they have been to gaze on such enchanted scenes"
"I think it is a fine country," said Haydée, "but I see France as it really is, because I see it with the eyes of a woman; whereas my own country, which I saw with the eyes of a child, is enveloped in an atmosphere, luminous or otherwise, according as my remembrances of it are sad or joyous."
"So young," said Albert, falling into commonplace, "how you must have suffered!"
Haydée turned her eyes toward Monte-Cristo, who, making at the same time some imperceptible sign, murmured:
