“Why should he understand this, my sister? He is my master, and I am his slave; he has the right to notice nothing.”

The count shuddered at the tones of a voice which penetrated the inmost recesses of his heart; his eyes met those of the young girl and he could not bear their brilliancy.

“Oh, heavens,” exclaimed Monte Cristo, “can my suspicions be correct? Haydée, would it please you not to leave me?”

“I am young,” gently replied Haydée; “I love the life you have made so sweet to me, and I should be sorry to die.”

“You mean, then, that if I leave you, Haydée⁠—”

“I should die; yes, my lord.”

“Do you then love me?”