for breath. "Yes," she said, "and you have still preserved this love in
your heart--one can only love once--and did you ever see her again?"

"Never."

"Never?"

"I never returned to the country where she lived."

"To Malta?"

"Yes; Malta."

"She is, then, now at Malta?"

"I think so."

"And have you forgiven her for all she has made you suffer?"

"Her,--yes."

"But only her; do you then still hate those who separated you?"

"I hate them? Not at all; why should I?" The countess placed herself
before Monte Cristo, still holding in her hand a portion of the perfumed
grapes. "Take some," she said. "Madame, I never eat Muscatel grapes,"
replied Monte Cristo, as if the subject had not been mentioned before.
The countess dashed the grapes into the nearest thicket, with a gesture
of despair. "Inflexible man!" she murmured. Monte Cristo remained as
unmoved as if the reproach had not been addressed to him. Albert at
this moment ran in. "Oh, mother," he exclaimed, "such a misfortune has
happened!"

"What? What has happened?" asked the countess, as though awakening from
a sleep to the realities of life; "did you say a misfortune? Indeed, I
should expect misfortunes."

"M. de Villefort is here."

"Well?"

"He comes to fetch his wife and daughter."

"Why so?"

"Because Madame de Saint-Meran is just arrived in Paris, bringing the
news of M. de Saint-Meran's death, which took place on the first stage
after he left Marseilles. Madame de Villefort, who was in very good
spirits, would neither believe nor think of the misfortune, but
Mademoiselle Valentine, at the first words, guessed the whole truth,
notwithstanding all the precautions of her father; the blow struck her
like a thunderbolt, and she fell senseless."

"And how was M. de Saint-Meran related to Mademoiselle de Villefort?"
said the count.

"He was her grandfather on the mother's side. He was coming here to
hasten her marriage with Franz."

"Ah, indeed?"

"So Franz must wait. Why was not M. de Saint-Meran also grandfather to
Mademoiselle Danglars?"

"Albert, Albert," said Madame de Morcerf, in a tone of mild reproof,
"what are you saying? Ah, count, he esteems you so highly, tell him that
he has spoken amiss." And she took two or three steps forward.
Monte Cristo watched her with an air so thoughtful, and so full of
affectionate admiration, that she turned back and grasped his hand; at
the same time she seized that of her son, and joined them tog