w having only 25,000 francs a
year."

Maximilian had scarcely finished his story, during which the count's
heart had swelled within him, when Emmanuel entered wearing a hat and
coat. He saluted the count with the air of a man who is aware of the
rank of his guest; then, after having led Monte Cristo around the little
garden, he returned to the house. A large vase of Japan porcelain,
filled with flowers that loaded the air with their perfume, stood in
the salon. Julie, suitably dressed, and her hair arranged (she had
accomplished this feat in less than ten minutes), received the count on
his entrance. The songs of the birds were heard in an aviary hard by,
and the branches of laburnums and rose acacias formed an exquisite
framework to the blue velvet curtains. Everything in this charming
retreat, from the warble of the birds to the smile of the mistress,
breathed tranquillity and repose. The count had felt the influence of
this happiness from the moment he entered the house, and he remained
silent and pensive, forgetting that he was expected to renew the
conversation, which had ceased after the first salutations had been
exchanged. The silence became almost painful when, by a violent effort,
tearing himself from his pleasing reverie--"Madame," said he at length,
"I pray you to excuse my emotion, which must astonish you who are only
accustomed to the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a
sight to me, that I could never be weary of looking at yourself and your
husband."

"We are very happy, monsieur," replied Julie; "but we have also known
unhappiness, and few have ever undergone more bitter sufferings than
ourselves." The Count's features displayed an expression of the most
intense curiosity.

"Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told you the other
day," observed Maximilian. "This humble picture would have but little
interest for you, accustomed as you are to behold the pleasures and the
misfortunes of the wealthy and industrious; but such as we are, we have
experienced bitter sorrows."

"And God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does into those of all
who are in affliction?" said Monte Cristo inquiringly.

"Yes, count," returned Julie, "we may indeed say he has, for he has done
for us what he grants only to his chosen; he sent us one of his angels."
The count's cheeks became scarlet, and he coughed, in order to have an
excuse for putting his handkerchief to his mouth. "Those born