by one of the many-colored scarfs, whose brilliant hues and rich silken
fringe have rendered them so precious in the eyes of Parisian belles.
Tilted on one side of her head she had a small cap of gold-colored silk,
embroidered with pearls; while on the other a purple rose mingled its
glowing colors with the luxuriant masses of her hair, of which the
blackness was so intense that it was tinged with blue. The extreme
beauty of the countenance, that shone forth in loveliness that mocked
the vain attempts of dress to augment it, was peculiarly and purely
Grecian; there were the large, dark, melting eyes, the finely formed
nose, the coral lips, and pearly teeth, that belonged to her race and
country. And, to complete the whole, Haidee was in the very springtide
and fulness of youthful charms--she had not yet numbered more than
twenty summers.

Monte Cristo summoned the Greek attendant, and bade her inquire whether
it would be agreeable to her mistress to receive his visit. Haidee's
only reply was to direct her servant by a sign to withdraw the
tapestried curtain that hung before the door of her boudoir, the
framework of the opening thus made serving as a sort of border to the
graceful tableau presented by the young girl's picturesque attitude and
appearance. As Monte Cristo approached, she leaned upon the elbow of the
arm that held the narghile, and extending to him her other hand, said,
with a smile of captivating sweetness, in the sonorous language spoken
by the women of Athens and Sparta, "Why demand permission ere you enter?
Are you no longer my master, or have I ceased to be your slave?" Monte
Cristo returned her smile. "Haidee," said he, "you well know."

"Why do you address me so coldly--so distantly?" asked the young Greek.
"Have I by any means displeased you? Oh, if so, punish me as you
will; but do not--do not speak to me in tones and manner so formal and
constrained."

"Haidee," replied the count, "you know that you are now in France, and
are free."

"Free to do what?" asked the young girl.

"Free to leave me."

"Leave you? Why should I leave you?"

"That is not for me to say; but we are now about to mix in society--to
visit and be visited."

"I don't wish to see anybody but you."

"And should you see one whom you could prefer, I would not be so
unjust"--

"I have never seen any one I preferred to you, and I have never loved
any one but you and my father."

"My poor child," replied Monte Cristo, "th