“I have never seen anyone I preferred to you, and I have never loved anyone but you and my father.”
“My poor child,” replied Monte Cristo, “that is merely because your father and myself are the only men who have ever talked to you.”
“I don’t want anybody else to talk to me. My father said I was his ‘joy’—you style me your ‘love,’—and both of you have called me ‘my child.’ ”
“Do you remember your father, Haydée?”
The young Greek smiled.
“He is here, and here,” said she, touching her eyes and her heart.
“And where am I?” inquired Monte Cristo laughingly.
“You?” cried she, with tones of thrilling tenderness, “you are everywhere!”
Monte Cristo took the delicate hand of the young girl in his, and was about to raise it to his lips, when the simple child of nature hastily withdrew it, and presented her cheek.
“You now understand, Haydée,” said the count, “that from this moment you are absolutely free; that here you exercise unlimited sway, and are at liberty to lay aside or continue the costume of your country, as it may suit your inclination.
Within this mansion you are absolute mistress of your actions, and may go abroad or remain in your apartments as may seem most agreeable to you. A carriage waits your orders, and Ali and Myrtho will accompany you whithersoever you desire to go. There is but one favor I would entreat of you.”
“Speak.”