see me?” inquired he.
“I did,” replied the count. “You no doubt observed the horses standing a few minutes since at the door?”
“Certainly, your excellency. I noticed them for their remarkable beauty.”
“Then how comes it,” said Monte Cristo with a frown, “that, when I desired you to purchase for me the finest pair of horses to be found in Paris, there is another pair, fully as fine as mine, not in my stables?”
At the look of displeasure, added to the angry tone in which the count spoke, Ali turned pale and held down his head.
“It is not your fault, my good Ali,” said the count in the Arabic language, and with a gentleness none would have thought him capable of showing, either in voice or face—“it is not your