“Madame,” replied Monte Cristo gravely, and gazing earnestly on the two liquid pearls that trickled down Julie’s cheeks, “had Lord Wilmore seen what I now see, he would become attached to life, for the tears you shed would reconcile him to mankind;” and he held out his hand to Julie, who gave him hers, carried away by the look and accent of the count.
“But,” continued she, “Lord Wilmore had a family or friends, he must have known someone, can we not—”
“Oh, it is useless to inquire,” returned the count; “perhaps, after all, he was not the man you seek for. He was my friend: he had no secrets from me, and if this had been so he would have confided in me.”
“And he told you nothing?”
“Not a word.”
“Nothing that would lead you to suppose?”
“Nothing.”
“And yet you spoke of him at once.”
“Ah, in such a case one supposes—”
“Sister, sister,” said Maximilian, coming to the count’s aid, “monsieur is quite right. Recollect what our excellent father so often told us, ‘It was no Englishman that thus saved us.’ ”
Monte Cristo started. “What did your father tell you, M. Morrel?” said he eagerly.
“My father thought that this action had been miraculously performed—he believed that a benefactor had arisen from the grave to save us. Oh, it