to him of her own accord in the course of the recital, 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,
“ Πατρὸς μὲν ἄτην, μήζε τὸ ὄνομα προδότου καὶ προδοσίαν, εἰπὲ ἡμῖν. ”
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 as if it were but yesterday 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 scimitar 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 proceed from the mouth of anyone but an actress on the stage, and one needs