with
considerable interest, but it was an interest altogether masculine.
Valentine also looked at her attentively, with that searching,
penetrating look one woman invariably casts upon another. As for
Zuleika, her eyes literally devoured the peasant girl, flashing with
what was not exactly hatred for a rival but rather an instinctive fear
and distrust. She was well aware that Giovanni had flirted with this
girl, had been enthralled by her physical charms, had almost yielded to
her sway, and she felt a peculiar interest in the creature who had
temporarily at least stolen the heart of her lover from her.

Annunziata had been greatly benefited by her sojourn in the calm and
quiet Refuge. She had by a great and heroic exercise of her strength of
mind put aside from her all thoughts of her lamentable history, of her
suddenly clouded and terrible past. She had thoroughly abandoned herself
to the discipline and duties of the Sisters of the Order of Refuge, and
had sought with more or less success even to forget herself. Her
unruffled life, passed in the continual doing of good, filled her with
peacefulness and satisfaction, and for the first time in a long while
she fully realized what it was to be perfectly contented and happy. In
consequence her physical condition had improved, promptly responding to
her mental ease. She had recovered the beauty she had lost during her
confinement in the bandits' hut and her subsequent wanderings as a
homeless, starving outcast. Her plumpness had also returned, and her
glance had all the brightness and gayety that had formerly distinguished
it. Still a general refinement had taken possession of her, and
Annunziata was no longer the child of nature she had been when she lived
in the romantic cabin in the forest.

Madame de Rancogne was the first to speak.

"Sister Annunziata," she said, "here are his Excellency the Count of
Monte-Cristo, Zuleika his daughter, and M. and Mme. Morrel. Allow me to
make you acquainted with them and to assure you that they are true
friends of mine, firmly to be relied on. They wish to interrogate you in
regard to a certain matter. You can answer their questions without fear
and without the slightest hesitation. The Count of Monte-Cristo is the
very soul of chivalry and honor!"

The Count bowed in acknowledgment of this well-turned speech and,
addressing Annunziata, who, notwithstanding Mme. de Rancogne's
assurances, began to tremble and feel distressed, said: