r lover from her presence, but her
heart yearned for him and defended him in spite of everything. She
therefore sent him Vampa's letter, assuring him of her belief in his
innocence and commanding him to prove it to her and to the world.
Thereupon Giovanni had instantly quitted Paris. His sudden disappearance
seemed like a flight; it caused scandal's thousand tongues to wag
remorselessly; but, although he left no word for her, Zuleika knew her
command had sent him to Italy to clear his name and record in her eyes;
she was firmly convinced that she would see him again, that he would
return to Paris rehabilitated.

Such was the general condition of affairs, as affecting the
Monte-Cristo family, at the time the thread of this narrative is
resumed.

It was the month of July. The heat in Paris was intense, absolutely
stifling; a white glow seemed to fall from the breezeless, yellow
atmosphere, scorching the very pavements; for weeks there had been no
rain, not the slightest sign of a cloud in the pitiless heavens. The
streets were almost deserted; even that favored thoroughfare of fashion,
the Rue de la Paix, boasted of but few promenaders; the only spot in
request was the Bois de Boulogne, with its magnificent trees and
deliciously shaded avenues; the Champs-Elysees, throughout its entire
extent, from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de l' Etoile, was like
a sun-swept desert, and its picturesque marchands de coco, with their
shining mugs, snow-white aprons and tinkling bells, found only a limited
demand for their liquorice water and lemon juice, while even the
Theatres de Guignol failed to arrest the rare passers.

In the vast garden of the Monte-Cristo mansion, notwithstanding its
power elsewhere, the sun seemed to have been successfully defied; there
the trees, shrubs and plants were not parched, but preserved all their
freshness and beauty, suggesting the coolness of early spring rather
than the sweltering heat of midsummer, while the parterres were
brilliant with gorgeous bloom and penetrating perfumes loaded the air.
Near a little gate opening upon the Rue du Helder, early one morning,
Zuleika and Mlle. d' Armilly were sitting on a rustic bench beneath an
ample honeysuckle-covered arbor. They had come to the garden from the
breakfast-room to rest and chat after their meal. The former
music-teacher was telling her companion of her stage experience and of
the many adventures she had met with during her operatic care