and
Leroux executed the customary pirouettes; Robert duly challenged the
Prince of Granada; and the royal father of the princess Isabella, taking
his daughter by the hand, swept round the stage with majestic strides,
the better to display the rich folds of his velvet robe and mantle.
After which the curtain again fell, and the spectators poured forth from
the theatre into the lobbies and salon. The count left his box, and a
moment later was saluting the Baronne Danglars, who could not restrain
a cry of mingled pleasure and surprise. "You are welcome, count!" she
exclaimed, as he entered. "I have been most anxious to see you, that I
might repeat orally the thanks writing can so ill express."

"Surely so trifling a circumstance cannot deserve a place in your
remembrance. Believe me, madame, I had entirely forgotten it."

"But it is not so easy to forget, monsieur, that the very next day
after your princely gift you saved the life of my dear friend, Madame
de Villefort, which was endangered by the very animals your generosity
restored to me."

"This time, at least, I do not deserve your thanks. It was Ali, my
Nubian slave, who rendered this service to Madame de Villefort."

"Was it Ali," asked the Count of Morcerf, "who rescued my son from the
hands of bandits?"

"No, count," replied Monte Cristo taking the hand held out to him by the
general; "in this instance I may fairly and freely accept your thanks;
but you have already tendered them, and fully discharged your debt--if
indeed there existed one--and I feel almost mortified to find you still
reverting to the subject. May I beg of you, baroness, to honor me with
an introduction to your daughter?"

"Oh, you are no stranger--at least not by name," replied Madame
Danglars, "and the last two or three days we have really talked of
nothing but you. Eugenie," continued the baroness, turning towards her
daughter, "this is the Count of Monte Cristo." The Count bowed, while
Mademoiselle Danglars bent her head slightly. "You have a charming young
person with you to-night, count," said Eugenie. "Is she your daughter?"

"No, mademoiselle," said Monte Cristo, astonished at the coolness and
freedom of the question. "She is a poor unfortunate Greek left under my
care."

"And what is her name?"

"Haidee," replied Monte Cristo.

"A Greek?" murmured the Count of Morcerf.

"Yes, indeed, count," said Madame Danglars; "and tell me, did you ever
see at the court of Ali Tepelini,