“Here I am,” said the young girl, who at the sound of the carriage had run downstairs and whose face was radiant with joy at seeing the count return safely.
Bertuccio left.
Every transport of a daughter finding a father, all the delight of a mistress seeing an adored lover, were felt by Haydée during the first moments of this meeting, which she had so eagerly expected.
Doubtless, although less evident, Monte Cristo’s joy was not less intense.
Joy to hearts which have suffered long is like the dew on the ground after a long drought; both the heart and the ground absorb that beneficent moisture falling on them, and nothing is outwardly apparent.
Monte Cristo was beginning to think, what he had not for a long time dared to believe, that there were two Mercédès in the world, and he might yet be happy. His eye, elate with happiness, was reading eagerly the tearful gaze of Haydée, when suddenly the door opened. The count knit his brow.
“ M. de Morcerf!” said Baptistin, as if that name sufficed for his excuse. In fact, the count’s face brightened.
“Which,” asked he, “the viscount or the count?”
“The count.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Haydée, “is it not yet over?”
“I know not if it is finished, my beloved child,” said Monte Cristo, taking the young girl’s hands; “but I do know you have nothing more to fear.”
“But it is the wretched—”